He bought her birds and not just any type: Quail, wicker, and one from Spain.

I placed them on top a dresser in her room.

She cried.

He was like a steamship coursing an endless sea, always traveling somewhere else. Far away and faded from distance and memory to reappear on a winter’s morning.

All I’d ever wanted was for him to stay awhile. He’d drop anchor having found his home in me. We’d find joy as hoarfrost turned to blossoms.

In truth, we were lovers snatching moments. Memories danced from projector to wall. Each clip a scene. In one: a café in Barfleur. The next: a foray through a hidden bookshop. As we  lifted the jacket of an all but forgotten ‘Emma,’ history rose dusty and reminiscent of bourbon and oak.

Desire is a fickle mistress. Once more, I’d wake to discover he’d left.

The Letter

Cilla

~draft

If only I could bring you back,

start you over.

 

I’d tell you: ‘worth’ isn’t a tailored suit, a fancy car, or the next big deal.

 

It’s about the ones who sit with you in the dark,

count stars, and hear you in your silence.

 

It’s about the ones who find you, dust you off, and blast the radio in your car.

~ Car Rides

 

night canvas

Beneath a stolen moon

There’s a sky full of stars

In the whispers of quiet

I will wait for you.

Burn those bridges

Ride these hills

Skies on fire, rivers rise

My heart beats strong

I will wait for you.

Come find me, take my hand

Here, upon my knees

I will wait for you.

Beyond the dark

I’ll be your light

Breathe salvation back to me

I will wait for you.

 

 

You are not his holler back girl

The next time he opens his front door and shouts, ‘Hey Girl’

And tries to claim you with his swag

 

Keep walking

 

Show him what respect looks like

Make him learn your name

 

Do not hand over the pieces of your heart and soul

to anyone who does not understand: You are worth more than a holler back.

 

~ What We Tell Our Daughters

 

 

words

If you were a book, I’d slip upon the page

and write you a hymn: To Love

The text, an alchemy of lost, of found

Shed tears and tangled blooms.

 

I’ll write you a boulevard cradled by oak

Swept up in a crescendo storm

In an empty room, beneath an altar of glass,

Captive, we’ll pray.

 

Words dance through pain, tussle with greed, as we swallow shots of shame

To shiver in the reckoning: Love never fails

 

As you gasp, breathless

Upon rumpled hope

I’ll soothe your sleep to dream.

 

In the still of morning, you’ll reach for me

Words beneath the cover.

 

 

~Seraphs’ Blush

Draft