Dear Ilana,

Your toes are cold in just slippers

as you stand outside and watch

the ardent orange tongues,

lap up your tangibility. 

They squirm through crevices in your floorboards 

and kiss your clothes to ash. 

They kneed and scream and crack. 

You know you lost. 

Before you can stop it, 

The North Wind cups the fleeting embers in his palm 

and tosses them
into the molasses sky. 

He whips them around tall buildings 

and lets them settle on street signs. 

He nestles ash in old, abandoned, pizza boxes 

and in the fur behind the ear of a stranger's cat. 

And you still standing there, shivering.

with bleach in your diet coke 

and rocks in your pockets.

and I'm scared. 

I wish I were there,

to wash that shirt

you've had on for days,

To braid your hair 

and fix your make-up.

To make sure your still real.

To make sure you don't burst into dust,

and join the fragments of your 

favorite Bob Marley poster

between the cracks of worn-out cobble stones. 

I Am

I am from a big red door

that could have been bigger.

I am from the dust bunny colony

under my bed.

I am from chipped nail polish 

and hastily crimped hair.

From the nine O'clock curfew,

From the first-born throne.

The tripping, wandering, hands-out-in-the-dark, throne. 

I am from the tall grass. 

The kind that has no paths waded through it yet. 

I am from the lost, the loud, the longing.

Knots

I can hear your thunderous eyelashes
pummel that strip of purple above your cheek.

Their echo tags along behind you as you drive
past fleeting lines on the freeway.

But it's her you mourn for,
as you struggle through a knot in my hair.

A sticky smile trickles down your chin
and I can tell you found something familiar.

Your eyes tug at my sleeve,
begging to drop it into my lap.

But that intimate hum we used to keep in our throats
slithered away through the grass

        A long time ago.

So I shake my head slowly, and you know.
She will always be your last.

Remember When We Were Strangers?

I was wearing stale cream lace

that used to be white,

drinking watered-down baileys

with too much ice.

My neck was wrapped in pearls

when I told you;

"Maybe later I'll show you my tattoos"

So you grabbed my wrist

a little too tight,

and let me waste your time.

You swept me to the dance floor

and guided me through

the choreography of our vibes.

You asked me to take my make-up off

and shimmy across your center fold.

So I looked you up

and lay you down 

and happily obliged.