No salt

I desire not the destiny of Lot's wife 

My path will not lead me to an eternity of salt

for gazing at what is behind me

I always consider what my bare feet carry me away from

but I do not visit to pages turned 

My future is spilling over with water 

Freshwater

New life 

No salt 

No salt 

No salt 

Atargatis

 

 من فمك لباب السما ياختي

from your lips to God's ears

Lady Macbeth in Chains

A wise woman once said 

the hours between three am and five am 

are sacred, fluid

The veil between worlds grows thinner 

spirits dip in and out of realms 

You can hear inklings and etchings 

stories and dreamings

if you rise in time 

to catch the fraying threads therein 

Despite all the ready wisdom in the worlds-

I always sleep in

A Clock's Life

She's sitting on her bedroom floor, looking up at the pink clock on the wall and wondering if this is the last time she will ever have to see her father. The hands of the clock tick and she looks down at her own. "I am so young. I should not feel this sad. I am so small. I should not feel a weight this massive." She found what little air there was to breathe in that foggy bedroom and she choked it down- awkwardly, inexperienced. Eyes back to the clock. Back down to her pale, snow-bitten palms. Her crying halted when He walked back in. "You are breaking my heart." She didn't say anything. The clock carried on.

"How lucky you must be to be inanimate. To not feel the way I feel.", she thought. She wanted a clock's life. She desired an existence where nothing could hurt her in the way that bruised her each second. "I am so young." He left the room, slamming the door. She remembered the legal office lady's words: "You don't have to see your dad anymore if you don't want to. You just have to tell him." Like it would be so easy to tell him that. She would rather have covered herself in fish oil and swam through shark-infested waters than to look him in the eyes and speak her peace. There was no peace. Only a clock to envy. 

Oysters

 At the bar last night a nice man with a sole patch told me that I had a wonderful smile. 

january feeling

 

Optimism is adjacent to blindness. How funny that I very clearly witness this hopeful delirium in others and yet so seldom in my own psyche. The only thing that matters (aside from eating a nice piece of fruit) is seeing things for what they are. My delusions are familiar and occasionally I think, 'maybe I could stay here'. 

I've been such an angry woman. Maybe you'd like me more if I still felt that way. If the stick remained wedged and awake. I don't feel anger in the same way. She's so fleeting sometimes it's like she never even visits. I want to be some person with a problem. No I don't. 

Drink this water

I feel senseless. Restless. Horseless. Without water. 

I am thirsty in a desert. 

At night I lay in bed  and I think about my footprints on the sand of every beach 

I have ever cried on. 

Has the water forgotten me?

There have been heartbeats in time where I would visit the ocean so religiously 

So ceremoniously 

That I swear I heard the water chant

'I will never forget you'

And each time my heart breaks lately I think 

God

I've got to get me to some water.