These days your name is a
phrase that tears my ears,
and writing is catching my foot on a nail
or stepping in broken glass someone left behind.
A phrase that tears on my ears
fragments your face. Hearing your name is
like stepping in broken glass that someone left behind –
it reminds me of objections left unvoiced.
Your face is fragmented, and your name
has become ashes that crowd my tray.
Spring reminds me of objections left unvoiced –
of reluctant copulations and uncomfortable sweat.
Ashes crowd my tray because,
these days, your name reminds me
of our reluctant copulations and uncomfortable sweat.
Writing this is like catching my foot on a nail
and my tongue is trembling on the seal of the envelope
that I don’t know I’ll send.
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