I know how your hands feel
intertwined in my hair or
pressed against my back or
clutched between mine.
I know how your lips feel
pressed against my cheek or
nibbling on my ear or
Moving slowly against mine.
Stop.
I sit up and move away.
Away from the warmth
of you.
Stop
those hazardous lips
treacherous arms.
Dangerous you.
-SarahBaughman
Monday, February 15, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Stories
“when I say remember
Your eyes reflect, give back.”
You ask me to tell you a story,
As your fingers make dizzying trails
Across the back of my neck,
Sending shivers down my back that
Distract me.
A story? I ask. About what?
You don’t know. Make one up.
So I start.
I tell you there once was a girl,
I start this way because I am a girl
And after all, I should tell you a story
About what I know.
So this girl, I say,
Has a car.
A car? You ask.
Yes. Shut up. I reply.
You are always interrupting my stories.
You remain quiet and your fingers are still
Distracting me.
She has a car. I say.
And she’s driving her car at night.
At night? You ask.
I sit up from the spooning position
We were in.
We like to spoon.
It makes us feel closer
Because we fit together so well.
Do you want a story? I ask.
You wrap your arms around me.
A hug.
I just want to hear you talk.
You whisper.
I’m distracted.
You always do this.
I stare at you and
Your eyes are sparking
With concealed mirth.
I’ve never finished a story
You’ve asked me to tell.
Your eyes reflect, give back.”
You ask me to tell you a story,
As your fingers make dizzying trails
Across the back of my neck,
Sending shivers down my back that
Distract me.
A story? I ask. About what?
You don’t know. Make one up.
So I start.
I tell you there once was a girl,
I start this way because I am a girl
And after all, I should tell you a story
About what I know.
So this girl, I say,
Has a car.
A car? You ask.
Yes. Shut up. I reply.
You are always interrupting my stories.
You remain quiet and your fingers are still
Distracting me.
She has a car. I say.
And she’s driving her car at night.
At night? You ask.
I sit up from the spooning position
We were in.
We like to spoon.
It makes us feel closer
Because we fit together so well.
Do you want a story? I ask.
You wrap your arms around me.
A hug.
I just want to hear you talk.
You whisper.
I’m distracted.
You always do this.
I stare at you and
Your eyes are sparking
With concealed mirth.
I’ve never finished a story
You’ve asked me to tell.
Family Poem
When I think of Mom
It’s Wal-Mart.
Take a left after entering the store
Right back to the Christmas isle.
All those plastic trees
Balanced precariously
On display for all to see.
To buy.
You took a rubber lizard
And tied the tail
To a random tree branch.
“decorations!” you claim.
It’s random. It’s bizarre.
It makes me laugh every time
I remember it.
and
Dad would be
So embarrassed.
It’s Wal-Mart.
Take a left after entering the store
Right back to the Christmas isle.
All those plastic trees
Balanced precariously
On display for all to see.
To buy.
You took a rubber lizard
And tied the tail
To a random tree branch.
“decorations!” you claim.
It’s random. It’s bizarre.
It makes me laugh every time
I remember it.
and
Dad would be
So embarrassed.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
August, 2009 Sioux Falls, SD
We were in the middle
Of hundreds of
Adolescence, dripping
In the August sun.
My little sister and I.
The lead singer,
With his football pads
And hulk gloves,
Spat out lyrics
About his momma and
Dancing on cardboard.
We knew every word.
A group of short,
Annoyingly giggly,
Girls stared at us.
As we two white
Girls from Iowa
Rapped along.
Of hundreds of
Adolescence, dripping
In the August sun.
My little sister and I.
The lead singer,
With his football pads
And hulk gloves,
Spat out lyrics
About his momma and
Dancing on cardboard.
We knew every word.
A group of short,
Annoyingly giggly,
Girls stared at us.
As we two white
Girls from Iowa
Rapped along.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)