3 poems
door in our place i never open out of fear and too much want touch the knob — i am shocked
sounds like a party in there but where is my invitation? missing out doesn’t scare me
sometimes, it’s open a crack scents from the kitchen waft my favorite dish on the menu
i give up. nothing better to do splayed on gray wool, rubbing nothing matches their rhythm
the guests tire, it swings open streamers and confetti spilling must be my job to clean ’em up
twentysomething object built to take a beating— recording blurry scenes to wound cassette tapes.
humming with precision opening up when pressed her red button worndown by many careless owners.
secondhand machine with new ways of seeing inside freezing a frame when it can’t take this much in…
an observation device for triangular dynamics that separate signal and static projecting what is actual.
a new lease on life from repairs to its internals, charging, maintenance, & importantly: regular use.
the only way to ignore the sunrise is to close our eyes at daybreak
white light pours through delicate curtain lace— an unseen ocean roiling
more to see and to say as blue waves beckon, calling toward tomorrow
but no matter what we try, there’s no true darkness. light seeps in everywhere
the shade we find there feels almost ultraviolet; we see it together, apart
in separate beds, rooms on opposed coasts, we conjure the same cosmos
this color could be our own. when other lovers see it too, do they know we bathe in it?