babbling-basil

[babbling-basil]

Early Girl

(to the tomato)

The tomato is like my backyard

When my dad’s rough hands 

Used to place small round fruits

Into my innocent hands

The tomato is like the dinner I made 

on our third date

I halved and caramelized the ovals

Mixed fiery flesh with cream and salt

And hoped the fancy pasta I bought

Would make up

For my questionable cooking skills. 

The tomato is like home. 

It is sweet, fresh, and pleasant. 

It is easy to grow fond of 

And even easier to find yourself in.

 

I am like the tomato. 

Growing quietly 

From a flower in the garden. 

I crack easily under pressure 

And I cry sweet tears when cut down. 

I house love

And fond memories. 

And I too have soft flesh

That requires attention

From those who want me most. 

(xo, Basil)

[babbling-basil]

Today I feel unbearably human.

[babbling-basil]

I don't want

just to kiss you

I want to shake

your very foundations

leave you breathless

on the edge

of mortality

give you a taste

of immortality

or maybe

I just want to kiss you

[babbling-basil]

One of my favourite poems by her

[babbling-basil]

Samih al-Qasim, tr. by Abdullah al-Udhari, from Victims of a Map: A Bilingual Anthology of Arabic Poetry; “Slit Lips”

[Text ID: “I would have liked to tell you / The story of a nightingale that died. / I would have liked to tell you / The story… / Had they not slit my lips.”]

[babbling-basil]

Susan Abulhawa, from Against the Loveless World: A Novel

[Text ID: “I wanted to be chosen, maybe loved. I wanted out of my life, out of my skin,”]

[babbling-basil]

blood test came back positive for full of love

[babbling-basil]

xo, Basil

[babbling-basil]

For old times sake is actually such a heartbreaking and beautiful sentiment. Like, let’s do it for the love that used to be here. It is reason enough.

[babbling-basil]

The Weight of Winter

Every winter I am overcome with grief.

A sudden shift in the gravity of my world, like snow collecting on the branches of my heart.

I find myself missing the sun, its touch warm and loving. Finding comfort in the blaze, despite the violence seen in the slap of a burn. 

I miss the romance of August.  The chance to read outdoors  under a tree or in the woods; An opportunity to seize.

Grieving the sticky sweat on my skin, a reminder I’m alive.

And the Scrapes on my knees, scars left by the harsh earth near a stream somewhere.

Now I am holed up within the confines of my apartment, stuck with roommates I don’t care for.  My living room, if you can call it that, is empty and frigid. 

At least the snowfall is beautiful. 

At least my soul is still being nourished by the love that I can give and receive.

And at least I can keep living and laughing, and learning, and crying.

I can keep growing throughout the winter  even if it takes me twice as long. 

[babbling-basil]

My life isn't meant for a job I'm meant to make art, write, and be pretty

[babbling-basil]

Raquette Lake

I want to play you every song I’ve ever heard.

              I want you to embrace each line.                                                                            Breathe in every lyric.

and when 

              years from now in a supermarket 

(whether or not our fates are still knotted together by romance)

the songs I showed you play,

               I hope you think fondly back to now.                                                                       Back to the July sun setting on the lake,                                                                 daylilies in full bloom.     

[babbling-basil]

Melt

Oh what a mess you make of me. 

I am ice cream

melting

through the cracks in the pavement. 

Where your feet tread

is where I am the softest

and the farthest spread. 

It is there that I feel at home,

basking in the sunlight.

At your disposal.