10.5.2010

I have so much old poetry saved on my computer and lately I've been trying to sift through it, see if there's anything I'd like to work on again...get rid of stuff I hate. It's been weird though, because how I write is so reflective of where I am at any given period in my life. It's been hard reading some of it...especially the stuff from my first year at University. Maybe I'll post it on here one day. I like the poems as what they are, it's just that the feeling of them is so far removed from who I am now and what my life is. But we'll see.
This is a pretty early one (before the harder stuff began), I never really gave it a name, and I still can't think of one for it...

Despite your wax paper fingers
your kisses of dust
I long for your touch.
We paint golden shapes
on chipped canvases
in dawn’s chill.
Slow Sundays are my favourite:
The sun an inferno
as we sip honey in the fields.
You’re preoccupied and I’m hungry
for your attention:
trying to fit myself inside your empty hollows,
not knowing that
the ocean
and the mountains
are in there before me.
Their vibrancy leaving no space,
I fall by the wayside.