Love poem.

poetry by Liat Miriam

Love poem.

For Nitzan.

  1. The flowers he brings die in a glass after three days, my cat sticks her hands inside to catch the water.

  2. When the glass breaks and pierces my skin the cut hurts less than the things he says. I am no longer so independent, but if necessary I can learn to be again. I sleep poor without my arm cradled on his pelvis.

  3. He promised me that every place we’d live in would have walls the color of sunflowers. I changed him, but his tone of voice won't betray if it was for the worse or the better.

  4. I ask him to write me a song - he says the last time he did so she broke his heart. In my dreams at night he is cruel.

  5. I do not know if things will last, but I do know how I want them to end - sitting on a porch swing, hand in hand.

  6. He is no good at surprises, always spoiling them moments before the reveal. He gets the flowers, but forgets to bring them home.

  7. When he’s not here I can’t reach the blender, the toilet paper stash, things in draws far from where I sit. His nails are chewed up to match the skin on my fingers.

  8. Maybe one day he’ll wake and find my body won’t keep him safe. Who will paint the walls yellow then?

  9. Waking up is lonely when our bodies are spaced on opposite sides of the bed. I roll over and put my glasses on. Today I will drink my coffee alone.

Poem.

poetry by Liat Miriam

Poem.

I poke my bruises.

Holly with the red lips said

“that’s the total of your

autobiography.” Fingering traces

of futility with scissor tips, I

whispered I want to be a

hero, but got lost on the way.

Holly’s red lips are tight as

she paper clips spinal cord

vertebrates together, planting

seeds that won’t grow as they

should. And I’m in the kitchen

cleaning cobwebs, sucking

sweetness from sugar packets

stolen from the store I pass

each morning.

 

I cry too often. It’s become some

sort of game. Waiting at the door

for you to walk in like a kitten in

heat. And then when it comes I

wish to be anywhere else. Holly

with the red lips asked; if we

come from monsters, does that

make us monsters? we all hold

good intentions.

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Liat Miriam

Liat Miriam is a New Yorker living in Tel Aviv. When not writing, she enjoys meeting dogs and eating hummus.