(Old poem) / Write More?

I found a very rambling version of this poem while reading through my journal from February/March-ish. I think I never really edited it and put it up because I ended up stealing from it for a bunch of different poems – there were several parts that I like, which I ended up recycling into other things. So I never put up the original. But when I found it today I thought I might as well!

Also – I have been not great at writing poetry for the past few months. I just haven’t been focusing on it as much as I want to be. I was thinking of starting up the “poem every day” thing again – especially since I’m going to be a camp counselor for two weeks starting Saturday, which should give me plenty of observational material to work with, if nothing else.

*ahem* okay, here’s the poem:

he moved in beneath my eyelids 8 days ago –
i could have picked any part of me to use for this metaphor.
his residency beneath my fingernails (a weak
explanation for the lack of chewing – I am growing
him room to set up his bed frame),
a nest in the pocket of my cheek (count his parts
like watermelon seeds, taste him before i wake up).

i could explain the terms of tenancy – see the lease
in the bones of my back.
i could have said he inhabits the hourglass between breasts,
how he hesitates to touch me but doesn’t wait
to make a home out of a woman.

when do you ask an overstayed guest
to start paying rent?

the view from behind glass

sometimes both the men i love
stand in the same room, touch
shoulders.

sometimes they take bits of food
from each other’s plates, order
the same dessert.

i want to take both their hearts
lower them into a glass jar,
fill the empty space with honey.

two years and i will break the seal.
there will only be one left.
the other heart will have dissolved
like salt in warm water.

nesting

i build him a nest beneath my diaphragm:
collected bits of gum wrapper, dark hairs,
unraveled thread, abandoned earring backs
for months, flooded my pockets with
the folded corners of strangers’ lives
and then swallowed them,
prayed they’d arrange themselves inside me.

when i told him i found a place he could sleep,
he was eager until discovery:
i’d have to swallow him, too.
i promised to take him with a cool glass of water,
swore i’d never dream of using my teeth.