This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

a memory, because the things that are close to me now are too close. the ones I love now are in such a storm. the last three months or so have held a lot of tragedy for me, a lot of fears and losses both petty and great, and I’ve been struggling with the task of how to address them, both in writing and in life. so to force myself to say something, some faded talk of things behind. 

time for a few words I’ve heard before, because I spoke them, and now years later I pull smoke in and spit them out again.

oh, you pearl skin girl, you were the only thing I wanted when I was bursting, catching fire and falling apart all over the highway divider, getting stuck in the beach glass and broken bottles. in those years when my hands shook, your little shoulders were what I wanted to be steady on. the lines and circles on my arms they were for you, for you. I tore my hair out, burned it in my hands in a high school cafeteria, orange and white, orange and white. your black boot, cracking a small square of plastic–all I could give–its injury echos even now, even now. 

you took my little girl’s mouth and swallowed it. you took your body to my bed as an apology. or so I took it. 

Sid BrancaComment