skinny dipping under the supermoon (pale and brave)
the water was dark and up to my chest the sky was dark, dripping starlight there were no sounds until our skin hit the river like white rocks past midnight glowing in the moonlight from behind the trees the water pressure on my ribcage a hug a crush amplifying my heartbeat while it poetically annihilated my bone structure under the guise of- THIS IS WHY THEY CALL THEM CRUSHES your body in the moonlight pale and brave was composed entirely of places i had not yet kissed. the water was dark and up to my chest your hand was warm in mine your arms were strong and the moon was so bright
i would rearrange all my furniture for you i would give away everything i own on kijji i would make a woodpile of all the bed frames and bookshelves dragging sofas across the hardwood by myself to prove to you that there is room enough for you to call this place home for you to fill every inch of this house with your heart DO YOU BELIEVE ME NOW i would shout riding the mattress down the stairs the sound echoing through rooms empty like my arms outstretched open, hopeful do you believe me now?
the things we leave behind us
my gran's aloe vera plant sprawling juicy green soothed 7 separate sunburns the summer i was 17 her life was shipped box by box to rural ontario but my gran's life cracked during the move (not packed tight enough) a few things here and there left to rattle around in her empty apartment like loose change in a pants pocket the giant aloe vera plant stuck out in the hallway of the condominium with the hope that someone would take it home to continue spilling out of its pot i lose track i don't go back no last glances before the realtor takes the keys a month later i buy a tiny aloe vera plant this is a delicate cycle an adjacent laundry room life is generations of red-haired women starting from tiny plants and stretching toward the sun.