Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘poets’

Farm Hands

Mornings I’d crawl down to listen to the boys feed the calves. John let them suck his fingers. He didn’t know they wanted milk. Josh ran. His mom called him rabbit. His wall jammed with ribbons. The boys slept in bunk beds. I heard them whisper about the west. Matthew dreamt of the other coast. He learned everything about surfing. I can see them older now, wading into the Pacific […]

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Everything that Rises

At the end of the day, Z and I talk about sand: how it took the house in Eternal Sunshine. How the two boys eye each other in Bad Education. Our crush on Gael Garcia Bernal. Z suggests, “The Life You Save May Be Your Own.” I ask about “Everything That Rises Must Converge.” A tiny car parks outside. Death Trap, my dad would have said. Z’s friends ask about […]

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When I Won’t Know You

In Berkeley, there are signs for a psychic fair. You want to stop and while I’ve sworn them off, I secretly fear we might end then, when someone says we’re through. But you can’t find a parking spot so while you circle the block I go in to have my aura cleaned. Students murmur I’m red or blue light, circling their hands around my head. When you finally arrive, we […]

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my mother plays games

she charges more than i make in a week and i’ve seen her naked ass on a VHS i found in the garage. house calls are dog days of sitting in the van; waiting for her to come back. i am a ten percent margin of error, i think. the rings she has are not big enough for her and too big for me; i am lost in the curves […]

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Love is

Love is running the back of a finger along the healthy curve of an infant’s forearm. It is rubbing the soft fullness of a cheek-to-cheek. Love is the baby powder and burps. Love is the way your milk lets down at the sound of a siren and how the weight in your arms fills you with joy.   Love is being unable to sleep as you think about the problem […]

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Getting Religion at A&W

A plastic cup hit the tile. The ice clinked. Soda surged like an outgoing tide.   “I’m sorry Mommy.”   I bent tired legs, knees screeching as I knelt on the sticky floor.   There were things down there I didn’t want to see: Dog hair, an old fruit loop. A stinky kitchen rag swiped through the spreading brown ocean of root beer.   And…   I was fourteen again. […]

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Mauve and Vermillion

Mauve   Mauve pale bruised purple lips of a girl loved too well, the cold flush of an eggplant’s flesh; the sultry bubble slow and breathy filtering through the room.   It is the slick taste of her lipstick. Wine, clotted with tannins, hours after. The peace a mouth settles into after sex. She has become them: the blinds’ soft fingertips crafting maps of the world, wanting to touch every […]

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For Kate, Always

Our Chaucer, I think, would have sighed. He would have assured us, shaking his sorrowful head, That day the solar system married us Whether we knew it or not –Ted Hughes   Now that we spent an afternoon with Crow. Now in the breadth of highway between us. Now after your presented death and my Wide like a canyon, like the end Of God’s whip, I can appreciate Our limestone. […]

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Ready or Not

I thought I was ready, bread rising above The bowl ready, Like Christmas-for-a-five-year-old ready. Like I’m too young to be a widow ready.   I didn’t know cell phones and secrets And laptops and lying, or dating.com. Couldn’t imagine hunter and prey. Stop right here. Just picture my Innocence.   I wrote my description and then I got mail. I was fresh paint, not yet dry. He said I was […]

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If you had been my online lover,

I could not have wooed you as I did. I would not have written letters in midnight blue ink on deckle edged paper,   carefully considered words from my attic of endearments reminiscent of a monogrammed hankie, a pressed carnation, whiff of cologne.   Your responses inspired me to write poems: images of holding hands across miles of longing. You write as you speak: witty, debonair. The baritone of your […]

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