Graveyard of Airplanes

In my dream you offered a beautiful emerald ring
You loved me still-
you said,
We are fire and meant to be together

You looked older and sad,
blurring around the edges like a picture
out of focus,
not like yourself at all

I chose a different man, long ago
He was earth and water and patience,
I fell into the cool, dark pool of his lips,
water sizzled against my heated skin

Seeing you,
if only in the quiet of my mind,
stirred my memories
I could see the graveyard of airplanes,
hear the music we made
How easy it was for me to sparkle next to you,
the unexpected circumstance
My fire became addicted to yours-
building each other up higher and higher
There was no way down from those great heights

In the dream, you said-
He cannot make you feel the way I can
He will not make you shine
You tried to put the ring onto my hand
I begged for more time,
as if our choices were not yet made

I remembered the warmth of being next to you,
sitting on the bed of your truck
and staring at the broken field of planes
Loving you was simple,
except for the fear-
Afraid it would ignite me
with nothing left but a pile of ash
Knowing you would eventually leave me
I would see it coming, and regretfully understand
Love would break me against you

Still, dreaming of us
awoke the parts that always ache
I would have sweetly died over you

I chose again the one made of earth and water,
gave him light and music, and crackling joy
I knew the edges of myself with him,
loved him across oceans

In the dream we both knew what I was going to say-
Emeralds do not belong to me and you
If our love was to be, it would have survived the graveyard

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Confession (or A Ways from Caramel Apples)

I must confess, I used to be anorexic. I figured now would be a good time to just lay that out on the table. Being a hiccup away from 25 is bringing a lot of things to light. I've never shared this in such an open way, but today seems like a good day. Between the age of 13 and 14 I barely ate anything at all and exercised sometimes over 6 hours a day. Unfortunately, this unprecedented surge of "self control" and "dedication" was met with more praise than alarm. I am the perfect storm of components that make up a person who develops this disorder. Some of those components are dark and personal; I won't be sharing those here. However, I did want to talk about expanding. Ironic, eh? Someone who once dedicated herself so completely to disappearing now wants to discuss actually taking up space in the universe. Lately, I've been desperate to feel some growth- legitimately growing up, with all the attendant responsibilities and heartaches thereto. My poem Ra...
Read more

ChocolateSushiCouture- Photo shoot, Spring 2009

Image
I never thought that on a rainy spring day I would be in a studio in downtown Chicago with a cute little assistant shyly rubbing bronzer into my legs. He was so shy, in fact, that he couldn't continue up to my thighs. (A fact made obvious later when my skirt hiked up and the skin was pale enough to blind Helen Keller.) Nor did I think that I'd have an exuberant stylist (see below) with his hands up said skirt, and down my shirt as well. ("Don't worry honey, this means nothing to me.") Ah, it's a good life I discovered just a scant few months ago. My friend, plus-size model Teslyn Butler , who I met at a commercial shoot, recommended me to a local designer named Niehla Ollie who was in dire straights for a Caucasian, curvy model. After sending a few snapshots through email, Niehla agreed to use me for a small photo shoot. I was folded into an enthusiastic embrace in her apartment and immediately put into make-up while I learned the basic ins-and-outs of plus...
Read more

Phoenix Song

the story of the phoenix doesn't mean much when it's told over and over again but no one stops to plan it means you gotta die no roll of the dye you have to choose to die in order to live again we keep talking of ashes and flames but it's just games until someone grabs the torch and makes the choice to expeditiously expand their own demise in order to move beyond simply surviving the story of the phoenix is bloody and lonely the song of the phoenix is melancholy and wondrous but we speak so easily of such things as if putting your Self on the altar is no mean feat no force no remorse your choice your voice screeches higher as flesh and blood sizzle away in self made fire cracked tears and dried lips praying you weren't wrong praying you'll wake up on the other side on the inside when the song of the phoenix cries better say goodbye 'cause swim or burn sink or fly either way you're gonna die
Read more