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sweetlovetruly: October 2010

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Our foreheads pull up and in. Like armies in lines. And we are right again. It may sound like revisionist history. But I swear it’s not. When I say that we. The lines turn to waves. That crash as we attempt to build. Shelters for each other. Yours for me crumbles. Quietly while I do the dishes. And mine for you crumbles. Quietly while you brush your teeth. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Search the Poetry Archive. Subscribe to New Poems. For Email Newsletters you can trust.

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sweetlovetruly: December 2009

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sweetlovetruly: December 2012

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Tonight would be a great night to commit a crime. The fog is so thick, it has stopped being fog, altogether. I see nothing through the car windows. But sparkly water molecules in the headlights. Poor it on. Poor it on. We are on a fog-coated sea,. No longer a fog-covered road. You'll push me. You'll push me overboard. The day was nice downtown, but here. The rivers just keep on going until they connect. To new waterroads with houses to pass. And streetlights that make fog thicker. Enough to mark pages.

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sweetlovetruly: March 2015

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And I am getting good at telling time. I move my chair to face the clock. And Mr. Somea lets me. He knows I'm waiting. For the little hand to reach ten. The other kids are loud. As they cut out sight-reading words. They didn't notice how long it took the big hand. To go around once. Feel the sweep of each synthetic jacket sleeve. As Neighbor Ann held one hand, tugged a cuff,. And then the other. Notice how poorly the overhead light. Saturated the four colors. Posters, cubbies, pencils. I know other things.

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sweetlovetruly: December 2013

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Running with scissors,. We touch the sky. When he said the word,. 8220;Sure,”. It sounded like the anagram. With all the original letters exactly once. On a plate next to the sink. Hit the wall and shattered. When you said the word. I knew you meant it. It made me think. Of "That Time" and "Apres Moi". A haircut in the laundry room. A poetry reading at Seattle Mobile Espresso. That 5:45 AM has the best light for photos. And that the farmers' market has jewelry vendors. A gold and ivory ring with a rose.

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sweetlovetruly: November 2012

http://www.sweetlovetruly.com/2012_11_01_archive.html

I am just water. I will be a person. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Search the Poetry Archive. Subscribe to New Poems. For Email Newsletters you can trust. Sarah Thunell. Picture Window template. Template images by Ollustrator.

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sweetlovetruly: April 2010

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Nemisis in Room 104. For anyone who has ever felt self-conscious, ever. A single strand of my long, slightly-curled hair. By a screw on the back of my chair and I. Will hold the security. Of the other hairs in the forefront. As long as this chair and I. I’m onto you, Chair. Where I sit,. Draping my hair over my shoulder,. I realize my tag might be showing. The latch on my necklace. I have absolutely no doubt. Has lodged its way. Into that ideal, awkward. Back fat emphasis location. Damn you, Chair.

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sweetlovetruly: Every Day (Things We Think About)

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Every Day (Things We Think About). And flaps to valves. Messages coded in cells. Things that roaches eat. Sweet, meat, starch. Ten to sixty recurring faces. Typing at their desks. Playing Mary Poppins years ago. Selling baked goods at next Sunday's yard sale. Forty feet of fingernail trimmings per lifetime. Except for the ones who died young. At 0, 10, 20, 30 feet. Over the kitchen sink. Or in a bathtub clean. Hair in the drain. Hair up or down. The cats' coats by season. The heat and the lights.

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sweetlovetruly: February 2011

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This moment sticks in you like an apple corer. You clutch your hand to your shoulder. As your engagement to the story grows deeper. This sharp will sting. Long after the show's over. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Search the Poetry Archive. Subscribe to New Poems. For Email Newsletters you can trust. Sarah Thunell. Picture Window template. Template images by Ollustrator.

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sweetlovetruly: February 2012

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Welcome to Part II. It's 34 years later. But the dates don't matter. THIS IS NIGHT SCHOOL! There are going to be some kids. Here, tucking their cell phones. In their laps, just as the professor looks. They can't work on the assignment. Because they “don't have the books.”. Remember “Later”? Later, a comfortable promise. That, in the future, you'll be less. WELCOME TO “TRY AGAIN! They say it's not your fault;. THIS TIME YOU'LL MAKE IT! COME TO NIGHT SCHOOL! Those fucking kids with their Adobe Flash games,.