whisper- just listen, then yell: "i flipped this room upside down for him, i almost bleached the carpet i scrubbed it so hard." you asked who i could've done that for when it wasn't about me. like always, the streets were a cocoon and i was another sugared girl. when i lived in that beirut space for five minutes, we parked slowly and stopped suddenly in white cars after days spent in ruined coastal towns/ the stories we spun took seconds to live and hours to tell.
the water and the waves of the sea reflect in a girl's braineyes in the morning. we drank a strange something with coffee and orange blossoms & i loved it & that's when it felt the most like playing house. on the street, i'd plead that my kidnapped husband be returned to me. we have three sons and i have one grey highlight down the middle part of my tired hair. even when i told you women suspend dreams in places like this where adults are kidnapped and children are adults, it still wasn't about me. army men occupy everything between my brain and your ear, my brain and your pillow... & especially my brain and the car seat that night. that's the truth of the situation. i just walk around with my mom's memories like heels on old shoes. after all, we are physical poets and literary rams. in waking life, we force all sorts of shapes & sounds on our poor pink tongues to practice putting meaning into dreaming. i knew this was especially true today as i aged at a coffee shop and we laughed about stale chocolate under siege.