almonds bake in the sun, raisin
skin crackling in the heat, nut potpourri
it’s alright that we met
it’s alright that we don’t meet anymore
my walnut heart has barely just enough room for my
Thumbelina self, slipping on a swallow tail
against an angel hat cloud of birthday cake
a walnut heart around me,
fitting folding growing all
is for me.
all my words
are for me.
all my flesh
for me of it all mine
me – you might say I became selfish
yes it’s true but you
taught me it’s better this way and
you were right.
I remember your fingers gentle
under my eyes that night, stained with my tears
“I’m really good at making you cry” you said.
The other night,
I saw your eyes drink
in your own tears, never
letting even the birthmark
against your eye feel its sting,
(so why would I now miles away from your birth
mark ever feel a thing it’s strange but I do)
you keep your social circles separate
you keep your tears in a small eyedrop holder
held against your retina, blocking
all the light from reaching rods and codes, a second
blind spot, a second sun, your tears
run in reverse, calcify in your throat, salt rock, I remember
I traced the skin stretched around the lump in your throat
the break in your voice.
And I realise
I am good at making you drink your tears.
I remember everything.