January 2011
5 posts
Nightmare of Horse and Church, Eireann Corrigan →
kathleenjoy:
Your blacksmith hands holding me in place, against the crackling anvil of our lost potential, your teeth of the jackal but then the gentle eyelashes lowering against my throat. Your hands, smelling of gun powder and mine of my own sick. O rosary, o hospital love. My long fluorescent corridor and…
1 tag
I had this dream that the skin on my wrists disappeared and four white bones showed, fragile as toothpicks, a whisper of space between each one and the next. The four silent string bones were the only connection from my arms to my pale, shaking hands, and I was frightened. “I never wanted to lose my hands,” I cried upon waking.
“we prostrate ourselves on the playgrounds
the temples of our childhood...”
– (via onerefuge)
I unpacked bags and bags of groceries you bought for me, more food than I could understand, more food than I could ever ever eat. I noticed labels: fat free, no sugar added, and I noticed tears spilling from my eyes. I put away orange juice, lettuce, whole grain rice, promises I could never keep, secrets hidden behind pantry doors. I’m sorry I screamed at the lunch table, and I’m sorry I lit up a...