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[calridleypoetry-blog]

Stone Fruit

I am here thinking of buying plums.

I am here smelling of bookstores,

of lemongrass, of rain soaked sidewalks.

I thought we would love each other until the candle burnt out,

not the match.

But this is more than just deleting your number;

this is exhausting.

All I can think of are summer nights

tracing my fingertips into your back whispering, “almost”.

You, pouring a glass of gin for me,

and a glass of water for yourself.

Or cold milk.

I want to be the splitting flesh of a warm apricot in your mouth.

Tomorrow will be better.

Sometimes I just want to hear you say it.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

JP

my fingertips play

with the edge of the magazine

as you stir your rice

my feet are cold

and I think

is this what it feels like

to be a second choice?

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Cairns

The insertion of a word

A comment

or in a comment into a conversation about trail markers.

 Or a curling corner

 That’s just how the air is

in the place in the universe where the fan is blowing on my bare foot

on an overcast afternoon summers day

Dry heat

A light rocking

-> ��;LJ�

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Random Notes that Were on my iPhone on July 2nd

 June 20 2016, 11:14pm

Shoutout to baja blast for being a superior beverage.

 June 20 2016, 3:44pm

Richmond spca

Restore

Canvas, clothing rack

Park again

Quesadilla

 June 27 2016, 12:06pm

It might suck but I meant it.

 June 28 2016, 7:01pm

At the very least mentally

If not physically and gutturally.

 Establish a similar group of memories.

Fabricated memories.

Like natural disasters.

What is significant enough to be remembered?

Most memory isn’t accessible.

What memories does your brain wipe clean and why?

Why can you clearly remember that day at the lake in 1998

but not your high school commencement?

 June 28 2016, 10:34pm

Your debit card is in your copy of the catcher in the rye on the nightstand.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Twice

a manner of speech is

eating soup or a sandwich or both

the branch will bend  

the branch will not break

sleeping on couches and watching the dawn

I have been looking for you

You’ve changed, the windows are open

So I grant myself tangerine excuses

I am dragging my feet I am curled up alone in a floral love seat we flirt in the kitchen with

A hundred tiny daydreams

[calridleypoetry-blog]

A Note

 Saturday 6/25 2016 6pm notes

 I am covered in cat hair.

 …

 What are the separations between intimacy and love?

an ��7J�

[calridleypoetry-blog]

1.       i will just buy you flowers instead

2.       a poem about drinking orange juice

i

[calridleypoetry-blog]

It Isn’t Enough

took the long way home

took the short cut through the parking lot

took that last cigarette from my pack

took that last breath of air before I walked inside

 forgot to check for mess on my face

forgot to check if you were doing ok

forgot to call my dad again

forgot to listen to my voicemails

 peered inside the trash for something important

peered inside my shoes for rocks

peered inside myself for more stories

peered inside the dark for meaning

 the heat is enveloping everything

the heat is driving us indoors

the heat is making us irritable

the heat is bonding us

 take what you love

let it guide you

towards something that’s fills you up

or take it deeper down the spiral

the flat circle is unraveling before you

there is something out there that is enough

if you look for it

through all the misfortunes

and forgets

and regrets

[calridleypoetry-blog]

i like to write while listening to podcasts or documentaries.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

A kiss

You told me that my lips were soft and big

and that other lovers’ were thin and tough.

  You keep coming back to me.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

By the Window

 you came home Thursday

                         and i was painting the house yellow.

 i had wanted to be a

splash      in the pond        gray behind my Nana and Papa’s house                                                                                

when i was

nine years old. I remember

                                               Split Pea Soup

                                    and

                               the smell of Split Pea Soup    

                                                               while

               filling

 glass after glass of                               water

by the window.

                                               Sitting in the

dirt underneath    the flowering tree.

 I remembered my Nana’s small brown tabby

named Janie, a soft cashmere sweater,

   (one in every color from the Summer catalogue) and Nana’s                deep red acrylics tap

                                                               tap          tap          

                                              tapping on the oak table. A burning cigarette, a            

white porcelain coffee cup steamed

                                                                               nearby

 All while

                               I was simply just

taking my pills

    daydreaming

 and pouring a glass  

of Vitamin D

enriched orange juice

                               at the dawn of Autumn

 in my first apartment

               above Main street

                                                                 listening to

                                                               the sirens

                                               feeling

comfort and the first autumn

breeze.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Just Some Words

Sage your bedroom             before the monsters crawl out of the kitchen cabinet  and don’t forget

to light candles

  I am tugging at my eyebrows            for comfort

(it’s a nervous tic)

I fill up my pockets with

tiny speckled pebbles

  I have reached the edge of the Earth’s crust

below is a millennium of deep

deep

stars

  I smell

my mother’s perfume

and I see

bluebirds building                a nest.

  Laughing weakly

sipping decaf tea

  Waiting.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

But I’m a Good person

I wash the dishes on Saturdays and Tuesdays.

I haven’t been eating very much this summer.

I always rinse my plate.

I line up each yellow #2 pencil one by one.

I choke until I reach the surface.

I try to live intentionally.

I drink enough water every day.

I give in.

I yield to his weight.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Grounding Activity V

I’m sitting in a field

on a woven blanket

I’ve had since

I was eleven. It is

mid-summer at dawn and

I smell like burning wood, vodka,

and sweat.

  I am waiting

for the sun to rise.

 There is morning dew and

my toes are cold.  

  I am covered in cat hair.

What are the separations

between intimacy

and love?

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Stardust

I am the threads of this blanket.

I am Jupiter.

I am crisp aspartame under your tongue.

I am cold hands on the steering wheel at dawn.

I am your first cigarette.

I am just born.

I am gone.

  History books scattered on the wooden floorboards.

There is broken glass, a month’s worth of laundry,

an ecosystem of coffee cups,

and bouquets of dried lavender.

I am a stone’s throw from mania.

I am a mile from downtown Manchester.

 I need to sleep.

I need to take my medication.

I need to buy lightbulbs.

I digress.

  There is the usual sacrifice of tiger moths.

There is the drive before dawn,

the bus station blend

sleepless and upset

pouting among dandelions.

 There is a soft rumble and my cold breath.

The crunching of snow

the crunching of bones.

Foreign hands reach for my coat just as trees

reach for the morning sky.

I will embroider

every word

into my bedsheets.

  Because out there, there is only stardust.

There is water on earth that is older than the sun.

There are 3am grilled cheese sandwiches.

There are shifting constellations.

There are eleven year old smiles,

wide mouthed, laughing,

with teeth.

  I am wondering.

I don’t even know if there is any oatmeal for breakfast.

I am listening to the rain.

I am bare.

  Somewhere, he is still photographing me

wading into the sea.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

Mourning morning

I snuck out for the 5:10 bus.

The October air was stale and

an uncommon cold.

  A spoonful of honey on the bathroom floor—

I wish you were telling me how much you need me.

Please don’t throw me away.            Roll over.

  You are the sweetest fruit I have ever tasted.

  Cranberry bogs blurrrr and there are cold Cokes, Dasani,                           and Chex Mix.

Glass cold on my cheek

drifting,                 soaring,                  sailing,    sighing:

there are bruises

I could never show you, scars

you cannot see.

  Another border crossed

you are probably still sound asleep

in the remnants of another tryst.

  You are not my friend.    You are my mourning dove.

  It is, on the whole, good

that the field should be ploughed.

  Pine forests melt into concrete.

Traffic jams give way to back roads,

mud, and footprints.

The forgotten wildflowers tell me to

smoke another cigarette.

The new rolling hills urge the wheels to keep turning.

  Later, at dusk, water is filling at my feet.

Around my ankles          My knees      Up to the metal

My mouth

It’s in my lungs                    It’s in the kitchen sink

It’s everywhere—

This is the age of gold.

  Let us chant together

about the dead

 and the rotten        things.

[calridleypoetry-blog]

I Overheard

Did it rain

last night?               I just wanted

to check in. Let’s check in.

I’ll see you in thirty minutes.

Are you sure that’s

the best decision for you

right now?

Yeah, call him

tomorrow.

You have had a major impact.

There’s no elevator?

Let’s meet for lunch.

Do you even care

about

my job?

An entire bottle of wine?

Good night,

I can message you later

Were you at the Cantab?

Damn.

Okay, that’s fine.

Listen to a song for me.

You never bought me

           that drink.