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Untitled

My dream of Senem riding a lawnmower over a field of rocks was a premonition. Because I wanted to see inside them, I gave her this task: split them apart for me; crack them open. Let me see the inside of every stone. 

 Will it bleed? Is it a seed? Seeds are containers. Time travelers. They reveal the past and future. If one goes extinct, a part of us dies with it. Here in this pile of rubble is a miracle. A life you can save. Find the one that bleeds. I need to believe in salvation. 

 When we were dying I took you to a pile of rocks and said, "One of these is my heart. Bring it back to me". 

 You said you’d fight but never imagined it would be like this. But god you tried until your own hands were grey and smashed. 

 Because you gave me hope, I will marry you. But it must be a marriage of our own making. Marriage can be anything: A rock. A seed. Your bleeding hand in mine. A cherry pit I spit on the ground. 

 But I know you like watermelons best so I will sow you a row of them 
with my mouth as a wedding gift.

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Boys

What happened to the boys I grew up with? The boys who would catch frogs with me at the pond. The ones who ran barefoot on the lawn and let me shoot their BB guns. 
The ones who cried when they didn’t get their nails painted because that’s for girls. The ones who belched the alphabet. The ones who made up dance routines to Madonna with me and my older sister. Who wrestled me and gave me bruises because I was one of them. 
The ones who skipped rope, who held flashlights under the blankets while I told the ghost stories and who never, ever wrote the words No Girls Allowed. 

These boys were like my brothers. These boys who weren’t boys at all and who let me be not a girl. What happens to boys then? Because I am not friends with any men. 
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I love You

*this poem is greatly inspired by poet Yesika Salgado’s poem of the same name. I loved her poem and wanted to play with the same format in regards to my own feelings about love. Please read Yesika’s beautiful poems! 

The last words I spoke to my father were, “Goodnight. I love you.” I was raised to end every phone call saying I love you.
To leave the house saying I love you. When you meet my family for the first time, you’ll see what I mean. It is like breathing, saying I love you. I’m going, I love you. You’re leaving, I love you. I’lI drive you, I love you. I’ll pick you up, I love you. Don’t forget to call your mom, I love you. I made tea, I love you. My feelings are hurt, I love you. Come kiss me all better, I love you. I’m listening, I love you. Day dreams about your face, I love you. Cute pictures of you on Instagram, I love you. We are at a party and I want to leave with you, I love you. I’ll wait to watch that movie we both want to see, I love you. You send me a funny meme about Leos, I love you. We are doing this together. This practice we call love. I love you. We make love a living breathing animal we can never tame, but love all the same. We make love a mountain of little things. Of it matters. Of I love yous. 
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Ice Storm

The birch branches bow down
bent by the weight of a 2 inch coating of ice.

As I walk through the canopy they create,
a white passageway to a stillborn world,

I wonder what it would take
to make me bend like that

to make me cry out in that blank space
a sound sharp enough to crack

a stiff back. For a moment
I envy those trees in their

frozen prostration. It has been so
long since I prayed to anyone.
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Elastic Girl

Since you’ve been in Turkey, 
neither one of us can sleep.
Day is night. Night is day. 
8 hours of misery! 

I dream and toss restlessly
while you go about your day;
Living your life ahead of me
the clock carries you away.

My mind expands the miles
my body loses depth
and I become almost invisible 
as I stretch the psychic stretch.

Then I am elastic girl 
breaking free of space and time.
Meeting you in future memories
to dance in spiraling rhyme.
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