i.
the boxes are stacked above me,
towering
with a sense of unease I've
felt since a child. we

pack our things inside
four walls, we pack
our things inside our
walls, always
inside.

ii.
I stand outside the store, loitering
in the snow. my lips are blue
as my scarf, cheeks white enough
to mask the snowflakes and
tears that fall upon them,
ensconced in silence.

I am empty, but I press
my fingers through my coat to
feel if something will press back.

somewhere a baby will fill the clothes
in the window, somewhere
a woman is pregnant, but she
is not me she is not me she is
not me

iii.
being for the benefit of love, I
can no longer draw lines
in the sand, I
can no longer watch as the waves
dissolve our boundaries in foam. we

are miles from the ocean, we
are miles
from anywhere, we are
we are we are we are

iv.
there is a quickening in the
way the tires hit the road,
gliding
across the frozen asphalt;

it will be Spring soon.

01/27/2011

Posted on 01/27/2011
Copyright © 2025 Jasmine Sword-Mann