i. i choose night rain sounds from spotify. i wake up tired to my dog’s nose against my fingers. in the last three nights, have slept only 7 hours in total - two and then three and then two again; a palindrome. it’s my fault, i smile at my therapist. she doesn’t return the offer.

ii. if the flooding comes, i am going to turn my head into the water and close my eyes. you know, when i was younger, we rented a house by a river, and every spring, our entire ground floor would be submerged in grey mire. we would stand at the top of the steps and watch it slosh in under the doors. travelling boats of items we never got back. the whispered voice of my parents - the insurance doesn’t cover that anymore.

iii. the sun is out again today. i defend fahrenheit to him (it’s a ratio built on the human body, i say to him, it’s a percent. it’s like 70% warm out today), we agree that in all other regards it’s gotta be in the metric system. on the surface, i am a fully-functioning, well-adjusted barn of a person. fluffed with warm and spring and a little bit of homesickness. someone said to me the other day - you’re just so happy-go-lucky.

iv. the house would be underwater for a week at least, each time. sometimes we would be stuck upstairs that whole time, prowling. we eventually just put tiled floor down; and kept anything precious where the flooding didn’t reach. i saw a ghost down there a few times. my parents agreed only after we left that the place was too haunted for any of us. on paper, i don’t believe in ghosts, yet.

v. the way you will paint your own sorrow, like a banner, until the whole thing sloshes pink fingertips up and down the gambol legs. the grass and the trees and the ferns will grow back, but all the tomatoes will be rotten. i keep waking up with scratches on my thighs. little scuffmarks. i’ve started clipping my nails more. i practice and practice a smile in the mirror.

vi. how long have you been in the storm? when you’ve made a nest in there, when you’ve learned how to hold your feet against the bottom of the ocean - doesn’t the calm feel so unsettling? there is a fear that comes to any peace. i know how to handle chaos, destruction, shouting. i am worried, constantly, in moments of calm - if this is right now, what else is coming?

vii. the sun is out today; finally. i laughed again yesterday, finally. behind the door of my heart i hear water; silent, angry, waiting.

// 5.5.2022 // are you the cause of the storm to come?

she is like the stars:

beautiful, yet millions

of miles away

.

haiku #2 //r.t.

you were easy to love;

I was easy to forget.

afterglow//r.t.

did he hit you, my therapist asks,

and I stay silent.

I don’t know how to tell her that

the grooves of his knuckles are a city skyline

and the empire state building is powerful enough-

to stand still.

no matter how much you will it to move.

no, he didn’t choose to use his palms to grab

or his fingernails to scratch blood

no, he tracked the highway with quicksand eyes

and arms outstretched like the Messiah

Won’t you always stay mine?

and the words dripped out through his teeth,

I’ll kill myself if you leave-

curbside, I caterpillar curl up

and regress into his jack in the box.

I can take the pressure, tighter and tighter,

until it explodes, and I can’t.

did he hit you, my therapist repeats,

and I say nothing.

quicksand//r.t.