This Northern Sky is Drenching Us and I Fear I've Forgotten My Name.

My name has been forgotten since last September, it's falling, decorating doorways and digging splinters into the soles of my feet....

His skin crawls, I want to know where he thinks he's going, I wonder if he thinks he's taking me...

I wonder if he thinks I'll follow.

There's no icing on the cake and the bed's not made yet, it's mid-morning,

 

it's raining again, Dear

and blankets are mumbling dreams to wrinkled sheets as the mattress constantly gets my

name wrong.

God, he's soaking wet and my towels are somewhere missing, wrapped around my head, I can muffle this, his voice doesn't resonate so loudly through

last week

 

it never rained then, Dear, never a drop on Wednesday

it's still September, it's twenty months past knowledge and intelligence is simply thirty days away, I know he's familiar with doing this again and I'm not crazy

yet

but I'm well aware of the way to get there, I've been following him since

before

the August that dusted across my smile when he finally learned how to kiss me.

I whisper this as Autumn falls, I'm catching leaves on my tongue, pretending snowflakes will save me, sometimes death is the shade of the seventeen strands of my hair that captured summer and I wonder

how that feels

when he runs his fingers through my curls.

I sleep next to him, his scent erases my name but his lips mumble me, his arms hold me behind the doors that went missing last January, and I think that maybe there might be snowflakes in the shadows that are created by candlelight as he tries to be different, when he makes an attempt to breathe me in, I don't exhale, I don't ever

close my eyes, I only taste regret on the tip of my tongue as

yesterday

 

rolls off my lips

and follows him straight out of the dreams that will be argued in the morning

when I'm stuck in the doorways that remember winter

as September forgets my name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Brett Campaigne]

This poem is a big vat of profundity. Like all good poems it blurs the line between the abstract and the sensual and shows how language arises from feeling. Its got the reverie ambience of a Jim Morrison flow, but has its own thrust and is jam packed with awesome lines. Excellent interplay between the objects in your setting and your sense of self, especially in your passages about the bed. It was quite refreshing to come back to writers cafe and this is the first thing i've read after awhile. Most stuff on here I can only pass by in silence, without hurting feelings. Thank you.

[Wildecat]

You paint a wonderful picture with your words. I was going to read your work when I sent you a friend request but my darn computer froze. Anyway loved your poem.

[An owl on the moon]

You paint words so perfectly, capturing vivid images and tones and subtle fragrances of a world I long to view over and over... Your words are brilliance in brief glimpses of beauty... Amazing...

Craig

[Kara Emily Krantz]

darling darling.

i just read this out loud to Kara, my traveling friend here. We're sitting in the car stealing internet from the library, and I just had to read this. And I just had to read it out loud to her - since I always talk about you and how you're my favorite poet, but I've never shared your work with her.

Gosh, your stuff sounds amazing read out loud. Especially now that I know how you like to read it, I can read it that way, too - and God it's so powerful.

This is really incredible. Once again you make magic happen with your words -with your dates and times and months and numbers. I love how you do that.

This gave me the chills, even while I was reading it and trying to be cool :P

I miss you. I hope you are doing again, even though by reading this I can tell that things still aren't great. I want happy sappy love poems from you. :P Well, not really. Haha. You're too good at THIS stuff.

Well. i miss you, and this is turning into a letter more than a review. Just know that you're still my favorite poetess in the world, my dear.

Big hugs