poems

These are a few poems I found while clearing off my desk (a monumental project, believe you me) in preparation for moving out.

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Taking Responsibility

Am I right to believe
that the butterflies in my stomach
belong to you?
I suspect you set them loose
when first we met
for fear
I should forget…
now, in the absence
of you
they are fluttering
to death.
They drift
to the walls
of my insides,
crumble to dust
discreetly
one by one.
they are making me sick
and sad
and lonely,
and you see,
I do not want a stomach that is full
of dead butterflies,
my friend – you’d better
come
collect them.

The Frustrations of Dealing With Me

It should be simple when two people
have this peculiar electricity
particular to
us.
It should be as simple as one plus one –
you and I together make
a certain something
which is certainly
something more
than nothing,
although
that is the only certain thing
about it.
This should be simple but you see
it’s not
particularly when one of these two people
is me.
You see?
I am incapable
of making this easy.


(This next one is still a fragment. It needs another stanza, and I'm not sure if this first one should be in past or present tense. It also (as bloody usual) needs a title.)

Inexplicable

What is it I need?
I have fallen out of the habit
of breathing – all the clovers
on the lawn
are four-leaved
but they bring only
grief.
Sometimes I wonder
why it was
that the Tin Man wanted a heart.

Seasoning

We cook with silence
in the kitchen – it clings to our fingers
like bread dough,
pools on the polished counters and drips
to the floor
slips
to the door.
It has become
the one ingredient
we use in everything –
we used to say that was love,
and laugh,
do you remember?
Silence was stowed away at the back
of the cupboard of spices
half-hidden always
by thyme.
Now you and I
are connoisseurs
of silence,
but even we
can see
how bad it tastes.