Lynn

2020-10-29 11:27 pm

these are the golden years, the golden day, she says
like the sunrise or the sunset? i say
both. or neither. she says 

do you miss it? she says
your youth, i mean.
i know. i miss it. i am still young. it has been torn from my chest and weighs on my hips and i miss it. i say

how was your birthday? she says
better than before, i say. 
before what?
the moment it became my birthday.
were you gifted anything? she says
on which birthday? i say
all of them. or none. she says

do you think we could preserve this moment, cast it in gold or bronze or iron? she says
no. 
who said that?

i pick up the mirror and drag it home. 

ten, nineteen, two thousand and one. 

Lynn

2020-08-05 12:07 am

Soy el saber de la diosa griega Athena. Ella también, tenía la inteligencia pa excavar los misteriosos del universo.
Soy los anillos de Saturno. Somos de las mismas cosas: tierra, rocas, y movimiento.
Soy los diamantes debajo de la tierra. Somos el carbono, el cuarto elemento mayor en la galaxia. Y como los diamantes, brillo.
Yo tengo diecinueve años pero soy mayor que el sol.
Yo soy las estrellas en en cielo. Cuando una estrella nace, una nebulosa necesita derrumbarse. Y también, me caí de la gracia divina. Y eso no fue mi muerte, fue mi nacimiento.
Estoy lista para ser una de las estrellas allá.
El autor F. Scott Fitzgerald dijo que “cuando tenías diecicinco años tenía el resplandor de la mañana temprana, pero cuando tienes veinte años, tendrás el luminoso triste de la luna.”
Soy de los rayos de la luna. No soy más brillante del sol, pero reflejo el resplandor de la gente más como el sol, brillante.
Soy luz, soy luz, soy luz.
¿Identidad? ¿Personalidad?
Definir es limitar. Entonces, no me limitaré.
Soy el árbol viejo en el campo vacío del granjero.
Soy sola y mi mente necesita el silencio. Miraré el cielo y todos los animales que me hacen sus casas.
Soy la lluvia de las mañanas tempranas cayendo encima del árbol viejo, suave y bastante frío.
Soy artista melancólica. Me disparé en el medio del campo entre los girasoles altos.
Soy todas esas cosas y todas más.
Soy las interpretaciones de la gente que conozco.
Aún, las interpretaciones que las otras no son que soy de verdad. 

Lynn

2020-08-04 11:53 pm

it’s no longer july
not a cloud above the sky

august breeze rips through the car window to tear at my hair

the only choices i make are both feet on the gas and no hands on the wheel
this is the only way i truly feel healed

will these be my halcyon days?
anhedonia thickens brain fog into an impenetrable haze
even high beams won’t make a dent in this maize

true ambivalence comes at the cost of change
have any coins in your innermost pockets?

Lynn

2020-07-21 01:31 am

devouring the skin inside my lip.
of course, everything in the human body is connected. of course.

staining the porcelain with blood and iron, iron and blood and water, the permutations of rust.

my voice becomes sticky, sickly sweet - the performance of wellness thickened even further by blood. 

my crazy, concentrated and caustic, drains through my nose and onto my chin and onto my shirt and onto my hands and down the drain. 

“i wish the blood inside my mouth were yours”. 

Lynn

2020-06-07 12:25 am

i see sunday mornings beyond my time.
does sunday still exist?

i see my history yawning out before me.
can corpses exist on both edges?

i see my mother.
can grief follow a child out of the womb?

time, death, and life roll the die to see which takes their turn first.
west and north argue over the sun while east and south clutch each other, wailing.

god's suicide passes through us
concentric circles of chaos
look, there is too much blood in the streets!

Lynn

2020-04-29 12:56 am

it's my turn to put away the dishes
it's the same knife i use to cut strawberries in the mornings
the sucrose covers my hands.
do you think blood is the same kind of sticky?
will it come off with soap and water and elbow grease?
will it even matter?

Lynn

2020-04-26 07:53 pm

I am a infinite work in progress.
Who I was yesterday is not who I am now is not who I will be tomorrow.
However long it takes me to answer, the clock keeps ticking.
The past increases, the future recedes.

I'm not me, I'm a traveler.
Whatever I do, wherever I go, it will pass.
When whenever ends, finally I will know rest.
Peace.

Lynn

2020-04-07 10:57 am

the bedsheets, striped linen, rumpled, unkept
the jar of half-full change on the nightstand
the dollar store notebook full of dated dreams
the bible, still lying in the nonfiction section of the bookshelf
the lavender curtains, billowing in the cool spring air—

I forgot to close the window.

the cat meanders in
after his nap in the blue blanket still draped
over the armchair, he stretches big,
jumps to the east windowsill, and tracks a cardinal, pupils blown wide.

parting is such sweet sorrow. (2.2.188)

Lynn

2020-03-10 01:22 pm

if you round up, i am a lesbian.
if you round down, i am still a lesbian, just a little less.

do you know if love has a definition, an concrete interpretation?
how do i explain the terror in my chest when i look in your face?

i do not know what it feels like to love and be loved.
unconditionally, that is.

i imagine that not all kisses go well.
would you like to test that hypothesis?

of course i am honest with you.
what other choice do i have?

this is more sincere than poetry.
anything could be more sincere than poetry.

Lynn

2020-03-10 01:15 pm

is a cardboard fortune cookie more reliable than the red lace of fate?
which is more powerful, the man or the legend that precedes him?
(or is it succeeds?)
who are we to assign arbitrary hierarchies to the world?
(putting ourselves on the crown)

our sanctimony has carried us, and it will bury us.

we do not need to be the best:
simply good and kind

Lynn

2020-03-10 01:12 pm

my mother's trauma trailed behind me out of the womb, feet first.
her grief sticks to new skin like glitter.

death would be more glamorous than this.
how do i tell the woman who gave me life that i don’t want it no more?

Lynn

2020-03-10 12:49 pm

Concept:
I am a shooting star,
crumbling and burning and
falling
and falling and
falling
Don't  go back to sleep.

Insomnia:
faded lipstick,
new blues,
and morning sea glass.
Don't go back to sleep.

The summer heat has faded into fall.
An autumn picnic in the park—
I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean towards the opposite.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.