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you tear the skin of her phalanges, if only to feel

the cold tip of the bones of her long,

winding, fingers. you trace the cold,

if only to arrive at the warmth of her palm: a cushion

of red and wine. and you lie there;

a fetus bound by the cord to her placenta. a lover

bound by the heart to her hands.

She cradles you, and you learn to feign slumber

halfway through her lullaby. eyes close, mouth open.

gaping to suck on a thumb or a nipple; hard

Llke the rubber end of a mongol. the color of carnation

and rust. slowly, you drift farther

and farther away. smaller and smaller like a dot

of dust ‘derneath her nails.

when the warmth chills you,

you pull up her skin like a blanket. skin to skin

like steamy nights in Santa Fe, when all you had

was her skin to warm your cold, cold heart. and you dream,

you dream of tearing her skin so you can keep it

tied around your wrist like a slash; like a badge

to parade around town.

when you awake, she is gone. and you tread

the length of her arms to find her again. only to get lost

in her veins; to get drowned in the flow

of her streaming, angry, streaming blood. she is lost,

and you close your eyes to recall the image

of undressing her off of her white skin. 

Alzheimer

It always starts simple

A title of a song, an ingredient

of bulalo, a name of an old friend,

an important event, a birthday -

yours.

When it gets serious, they touch

Your hands and you ask

How is Mrs. ______? And they stare

pitifully into your eyes.

They haven’t been in elementary

for years and you smile

You stare at the mirror for hours

Foreign wrinkles on your forehead

each line for passed decade

you recognize nothing small

remember not even the monumental.

You live like death

Awaiting death.

On your deathbed

The flashback of history begins

Events you don’t remember

At all. Faces whose names are lost.

And without even knowing

you start ending.

The way ghosts never find out they’re dead. 

To The Aegean Sea

It was difficult to mourn for your passing. Just as it was more difficult to kill the terror in the labyrinth, than to be killed. To be killed cold blooded, among virgin youths and maidens. I would have none the face to show you in heaven. Not when I have sworn you victory. And freedom.

I haven’t the time to explain. When I reached shore expecting a banquet for my, our triumph. You welcomed me. Your body lying lifeless on the shore. And I wept. I wept for the departed body, the lost soul. For the life that sought end for me. For the triumph and misfortune I brought home to Athens.

I defeated Pasiphae’s bastard and escaped through a ball of thread to the sea. It was the love of a princess that saved me. Yes, the daughter of the enemy, just like Medea to Jason. Her name was Ariadne. I watched her all the way to Naxos. Her wood locks wafting in the wind. Her cheeks burning in the cold. If you were alive to allow me, I would have made her princess of all Athens.

But the way back home was a terrible one. I lost her. How it would’ve been easier to bear if I lost her to the sea, or to a disease. But I lost her because Dionysus saw her through my eyes, and longed to possess her. And Mnesemony left me with no memory. Not until I’ve reached shore and found you there. Not until then did I remember. How the night before she melted like wax under the sun between my hands. I failed to turn the sail white and you killed yourself. And I wept. For Ariadne, beautiful Ariadne whom I left asleep in Naxos when I had sworn her queen of land.

Your heart is a door, slightly ajar -

- a little opening in a room of paper clouds and plastic cups. No air to breathe, just wind - the unexpected breeze, cool against sun burnt cheeks. The wind against open eyes, blinking rain, stinging sun burnt cheeks.

Your heart is a door, slightly ajar. Open at 10, close at 5. Inviting people to come in, only on working hours.

Your heart is a door, slightly ajar: tempting the brave, hungry for a show of courage; but sick to its stomach when fed, finger ready to poke your gullet.

Your heart is a door, slightly ajar; slowly closing; saying goodbye.

An Instruction To Forgetting

Begin by putting away boxes

The music of midnight footsteps

The warmth of hand embracing fist

The taste of coffee and cigarettes

Tucked inside

Replace the mark on the wall

Where a frame used to hang

With a poster of a naked woman

With a beer in hand.

Open yourself a can, raise it

To the wall and say “To forgetting”

Swim inside your covers void

of another skin. Steal

the cold under your pillows. Feel

the vast space that the bed

and you have become

When the desolation sinks in, resist sleep.

Who knows who might visit you

in a dream.

A series of long nights loom.

End by smiling.

Patience is a virtue,

Forgetting is a must,

And the moon awaits company

It’s you and her for a while

Into the night you say “To forgetting”

you raise your beer again

But no one will be listening.