Atonement:

I am, possibly, not thin.

Not thin by an anorexic's judgment, to be sure.

Call it a vacation.

Maybe I am going to cure myself,

or find a better way to cause hurt.

I suspect I will be back.

I feel a warmth for cold girls tonight, though.

Perhaps it is the 24th of December bringing it out of me-

some kind of gentle pressure,

like the white space left on the coal shading of a leaf.

There is a warmth to the silent existence of us

and I feel a warmth and a sadness,

for you, maybe,

and me.

As though searching liberary stacks

for a line

on a page

of a book I most likely will not find

and in finding, most likely will not want.

I am calling my absence health-

or I am calling it nothing much at all,

and saying merry christmas,

and goodnight.

And goodnight.

Tinfoil Swans:

A day disappears entirely into the evasion of food.

The anger of caffeine and

the anger of a long walk-

(away)

back from-

(away)

the front gate.

*****

(standing beside rusty hinges for three and a half minutes debating the purchase of a ‘Big Gulp’ and the obligatory calories in granulated sugar. I am startled by the sound of music, turning on and up in suite 2A. I am startled-

easily

by all the things I am not.)

*****

I hold my own shoulders,

roughly, on the balcony,

as though attempting to come to some acceptable terms with

(an affirmation of mass)

a lover.

*****

I disappear entirely into the evasion of food.

The day disappears-

flimsy as a lawn chair.

The way the afternoon heat closes up so suddenly against the evening sky.

“Would it be alright if I-“

Against the cats in alleys.

“Would it be alright if I-“

Against my cheek bones like breath.

“Would it be alright if I

had this wrapped up

for later?”

-and leaves me shivering.

*****

And I guess I’ve grown accustomed to postponement, really.

The anger of-

(a female body)

aluminum

which will neither float nor sink.

The anger of buoyancy

(so many tinfoil swans)

and of a walk.

Always so long these days

and always,

always,

this steady moving,

into the shadowed apartment and away.

i just blew an ant off my arm

and wondered what it felt like.

he skitters beneath the keys of my key board,

barely visible.

he'll find his way out again-

from under the space bar.

i just wondered what it felt like

to be so small.

and yet, to recover.

such fragile creatures, humans.

i think it would be nice.

to be an ant.

he and i

watch violent movies

and drink too much coffee

and i hate it when he touches me

so (non-) accidentally

on the short walk home

at 2 AM.

*

it's a wonder he bothers,

knowing how much i hate

being taken care of

on these cold nights.

but his crude boy humor makes me laugh and,

i guess i like the companionship

of all this.

**

he leaves me at the stairs

but demands for a hug that

lingers

too long

around my shoulders.

i ascend.

i ascend and leave him to trudge home,

with only the sound of his own feet

to follow him.

i ascend and feel good at it-

these days-

leaving him behind me on the ground.

it's a wonder-

to me-

that he bothers

looking up at me through stair railings.

climbing with sore feet.

***

i sleep with (all the/too many/not enough) blankets

over me and

my two hands

fisted carefully against my face-

a stuffed animal pressed flat against my stomach beneath the dark covers.

i dream of violent movies and

(ascending and-)

violence.

****

in the morning i wake and feel a stuffed animal-

only a whisper of it's grey fur against

my back where

my shirt has risen up.

(more ascention)

i used to like waking up alone

when i was a child with hands that didn't clench so tight.

i wake and straighten my fingers,

folded like petals

-closed roses with fingernails.

i wake and feel a stuffed animal,

it's touch as gentle as a lover.

*

i make the bed today.

i leave my lover beneath the blankets.

i skip breakfast and imagine being held.

and i imagine crying.

when it rains i feel like-

falling, or like

masochism is, today-

a blanket.

i want to cut my wrist and

stand under the water spout of my

$2.99/month appartment to watch

the white water

run pink.

when it rains the way it did today i feel like,

drinking chamomile tea and watching-

all the (tragic) movies i've always-

(tragically)

wanted to watch.

or maybe i just feel like watching something i

(can)

love.

when it rains i feel like falling in love.

when it rains the way it did today-

i feel 'in love'. 

like i could be clouds outside a window,

smoke outside a window

that

can't (ever) be touched.

i could be

a blue girl.

a grey girl.

a warm girl on her front porch, half smiling-

a sweater half off of her shoulders.

i could be loved.