#sapphic poem

i. maybe all poetry

should begin with a cottage by the sea. it takes a decade for memories to mature.

this one: ripe enough to squeeze, to drench

in nostalgia. the house we rented was called erin.

i wanted to

have begun there,

tried to fill my suitcase with pebbles and sand so i could take it home with me. but before i

forget, and trust me, i will,

let us recall all those little scratches: my feet torn up like a patio from running around

shoeless, my skin the colour of poison apples

from the heatwave that kept me up at night tossing and turning like

a child buried alive, my sister reading my diary

aloud while i jumped up at her like a chihuahua; crying, trying to snatch back my secrets,

the mouthfuls of waves

punching my throat like fistfuls of death.

see?

not everything is the way

i would rather remember.

ii. maybe no one should write poetry about an april day in glasgow,

unless they lived one the way we did.

one year ago, back when we were new at this. when you span me around your city

like a spool of thread. remember when

you still cared to unravel me? anyway,

the icecream was sweet and your hand in mine was sweeter still.

three natural wonders of the world in one day:

that second hand bookshop,

right next to the vegetarian café with the lentil soup we loved,

and your smile when i was the reason.

but before i am further seduced by my mistress nostalgia

there was

that yellow typewriter i should’ve bought, and how our best friend told us he was moving back

home instead of in with me

and the way you wouldn’t stop talking about your ex girlfriend. still,

it was a good day.

we used to have a lot of those.

iii. none of my poems will begin or end

with you anymore.

i am nostalgic for who i was last week. my sincerest condolences to

the version of myself who believed you

would never hurt me.

i am nostalgic for the person i thought you were,

i’ll always miss the girl who only kissed me.

i.

May calls me away from you,

at least for five days a week back to

the city where I’m working 9 ‘til 5.

You’re back under your mother’s thumb,

sleeping through the days, just trying to survive.

ii.

I’m not allowed through your doorway.

Lately I’ve been thinking that if this was a fairy story,

I could ride up on a white horse and set you free.

We could ride off into the sunset.

You could be with me.

iii.

But those stories weren’t written about the real world,

and never about two girls.

Still, I don’t believe May can be all tragic,

not when you fall into my arms every Friday evening and

these weekends are the closest things we have to magic.

i.

You hung the moon around my neck,

I’ll put the tides in your eyes.

ii.

I didn’t listen closely enough when we first met, but I am now.

Somewhere along the line I started to get

bits and pieces of you

stuck in my head.

Now I have almost learned you by heart.

Songbird lover, won’t you recite all the melodies your mind has composed just for me?

I want to hear all of the sounds

that occupy your space

when I am not around.

iii.

All of these memories

are silver and

engraved into me.

Count your blessings, people say, so I count the days

I have known you.

iv.

You kiss me until

I’m tissue paper blue.

v.

How can I ever hope to describe the shape of this love, so impossibly infinite?

It’s a match that never burns up,

never blows out.

It’s the flicker of flame all along my windowsill

that lets you know

I’m waiting for you to come home.

vi.

Everywhere you touched me, you planted gardens.

Spring has arrived and all of me is sprouting, blossoming into red roses, a dozen at a time.

You told me once that sometimes you wake up and you don’t know

if you’ll ever feel the sun again, you find

yourself beneath the earth, somewhere too far down for light to go.

Don’t be afraid to cry on my shoulder, darling -

it helps the flowers grow.

Well, telling the secret would ruin the sunrise 
Don’t want to ruin the fun!
What if we lose our magic? 
What if we lose our innocence?

Telling would mean that we would have to deal with the world
That would love to burn us at the stake!
Saying we’re martyrs for an agenda we chose
But I didn’t chose to love you…

Love me more!
Or just…love me at all

Begging is nothing new for me
But this time, it feels different
Begging for a new, unfamiliar love

It’s okay if it’s unrequited
But damn, wouldn’t I love it if she loved me back…

Whenever something good happens, 
I wanna tell you!
Whenever I feel blue, I wanna tell you!
Spill my guts
Meanwhile, I don’t let anyone else know I have organs 

you are my escape
my saviour from this nonsense world
i see your face
i forget about the pain
i hear your laugh
i forget about my fear
i feel your touch
i forget about my unaccepting mother

this is why i can’t have you
this is why i must be without you
you may be breathtaking
but the consequences are devastating-

forbidden fruit

i don’t know who you are

your name is engraved on my heart,
and the ghost of your touch lingers on my arm
yet i don’t know who you are

my sol, i have only seen you rising
what are you like setting?
i have only seen you out in the open
what do you look like, coyly hiding behind the moon?

grace me with your beauty
paint my waters with your red

-i want to see you, raw, unrefined, like mother nature intended

you see her in aphrodite herself

-to call them beautiful, is an understatement, for she holds the universe in their eyes

you complimented my makeup today;
i doubt you’ll ever know what that means to me
to have someone you have poured your soul,
your heart, the entirety of your being too,
mirror your adoration, even if it is a fraction of it

you were never mine in the first place
but the serpent of your name
carved in someone else’s heart
has the same poison in its fangs
as the serpent that would be
if you belonged to me

its bite intoxicated me with jealousy,
infecting my bloodstream, and every inch of my being
but i have no right to be this way,
for i am not yours, and you are not mine

yet, why do i present the same symptoms
as someone who watched their lover fall for someone else
doctor, oh doctor, can you cure me of this ailment
may i mistake these feelings for something
they are not

the tattoos adorned on your skin tell a story
let me trace every page; let me consume each word
i’m know you are aware of my desire for reading

there are moons inked on your back
i caught a glimpse of them, amidst last week’s heat
my cheeks reddened as if i imposed on something intimate
yet my eyes were bewitched and my gaze remained glued

i am intrigued, needless to say,
may i learn more of this tale?
or is this an instance of passing by a bookshop window
and never finding that windowsill display again

i barely even know you
you are not the woman you present yourself as
but, i know more about you than others like me do
so tell me please,

will there ever come a day i will learn of your moons?
-this is not something the textbooks can answer

but you are a painting and i am a bystander
you are as beautiful as sappho, and i say this with candour
i stop and i stare, but i’m not the only one
your world does not revolve around me for i am not the sun

i search for you in everything i can
i scan the poetry books we both love,
scavenging for a glimpse of your words,
in someone else’s
i listen to the band we talked
about, with passion
and listen to how your heart crumbled
i look for la luna every night
to see your reflection

-sol, it is pains me too much to face you directly

out of all the universes out there,
i have met you
out of all the timelines out there,
i have fallen in love with you

but if it were different, would you still look at me
the same?
would the colour of my skin been seen as
a threat to your name?

would you see me as exotic instead
of beautiful or kind?
would i fall in love with a girl who’s
privilege would’ve rendered her blind?

mixed race love

“gracious your form and your eyes as honey: desire is poured upon your lovely face Aphrodite has honored you exceedingly…” — sappho: If Not, Winter (2002)

“before you came into my life, i missed you so bad”