Untitled
I woke to you exploring my coastline
finger tracing every hidden, jutted stone
weathered wood
and whipping titanium grass
Your muffled voice in the dark
filling up the creaking tide pools
in india ink
careless and velvet
I find I can only proceed
when it is accidentally breathed in
By muttering into your mouth
words that feel full like marbles, such as:
'I don’t want to say I love you any more'
And so, You flitted in the dark, like a feathery moth
For one singular moment
until I was fairly sure that you were dead
You once told me that you used to fear
I would explode like a firecracker in your hand
Leave you stranded
in gas station bathrooms with leaky mirrors.
Forget to pack your lunch before bed
Slip you words into your pocket
That linger sourly all the day
I'll even forget to write the Christmas cards on time
Faithfully, I remind you
of the fast filling swimming lessons in turquoise green
The abrasive pad of your finger sending me drifting-
though I am tethered hundreds of thousand years beneath
You wake me instead from starry night dreams
the sound of coffee pots brewing
pushing open the airways in my lungs, taking hold
to root themselves in clay instead of dream.
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2011
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