Tag Archives: ocean

Her Breath Pushes Out Like Bad Weather

tumblr_lejiq87UA81qbil4eo1_500She grasps at the edges of sheets in Royal Blue before the wind in a stale room pulls them from the sailboat mattress, bare feet and underwear just won’t do at high tide she thinks, but there’s no time to go back, we don’t have any more time, the gusts are only traveling in one direction today. Don’t relax, no deep breaths, no sighs of comfort before she dangles a limb overboard and a sock piranha leaves her with one less pink polished toe. She will use the lamp on the nightstand when it gets too dark, cast oval comfort on the sea green walls, careful not to let the cord kiss the water below. There are sharks down there, she thinks, sharks made of bobby pins and hair combs and last night’s Chinese food. And through that eggshell door with the brass knob and crooked family photo there is absolute death; unpredictable, glowing, warm, death. It waits on cobblestone streets, in busy coffee shops, at bus stops, theaters, bars, in sunlight, in strings of gold hung from trees and lampposts that light up his eyes when he kisses her on the cheek on a park bench.

She tries to roll herself up in the sailboat mattress but it won’t bend so she tries to get enough air to make it from boat to doorway, high over an octopus made of three strewn sweaters, far above a school of exotic high heeled fish. She makes it, her breath pushing out like bad weather as she grips the doorknob and pulls in, first stop the kitchen to talk to the throb knocking on her ankle.


Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

The Shade of the Ocean


i left when you wanted me to,

when your two bare hands evicted me

with little more than neon

pumping through your veins.


you sat me young and round

on a throne made of newspaper

where at high tide i faded to ashes

and the shade of the ocean.


but you saved my breath

and scrawled out my name

when delicate hues of mother earth

curved like horseshoes over our heads.


what conditions were placed

in my unknowing fist,

still pink and porcelain?

the fluorescents must have blinded me.


for ages you fashioned me a

crown of roses and watched them die,

every petal leaving with a quiet thunder

that scratched another notch within reflection’s view.


the garden you’d dug

when i was a seed

flourished and fell and you grew bored,

caring for such an unpredictable crop.


so as the storms raged i was flooded out

while you held tightly to

washed up polaroids

folded hastily into a pocket of your jeans.


like sad confetti in a dresser drawer

i sprinkle newspaper reminders on strands of your hair

when you aren’t looking,

you’re never looking.


Filed under Writing

Leaps of Breath









rage me like the ocean

in a fever wave

turning torrents in the sand while


I dig tired fingers into

the grooves in your atmosphere

and you stay between skin so


lap me up in rocks and shells

fine on the tip of your tongue

sweet when you breathe it in


sinking chest on chest

curving through the night

hiding in words and leaps of breath





Filed under Uncategorized, Writing