#eyerites

tarot spreads that tell me small secrets about myself that i already knew but want whispered to me anyway

to build a home playing quietly from my phone while i sit in the living room and write this

our garden at twilight when the suns sneaking away and the ants are biting my feet

my friends my friends my friends

girlhood and running and climbing and making poisons that we bury under your trampoline and this will kill our enemies you say and i wonder if you're serious but dont dwell we are so young we dont have the time

mum telling us about when she stopped a man from poking her eyes out in amsterdam because she had seen it done in duck soup

reading poetry on the train rephrasing the hills redefining myself in the eyes of strangers

catching up on my dreams paying attention to them letting myself sink into them snoozing my alarm for them

the lack of contact hurts, and so she wallows around her house, and starts to pick up new hobbies, and falls onto the sword which is her work.

she puts her heart in a jar, and every night she watches it weep and refuses to feed it. because if she feeds it, it might no longer fit in her chest.

she does not realise she can grow with it.

The moon rises full, and so they leaves their house, enter the night.

But night of this alignment attracts a spiritkind, one with which they are unaccustomed.

They grab at their arms and pull at their eyelashes.

And they crush themself on the pavement, a bereaved one.

almost lighting the house on fire from forgotten sage

a home full of creatures; the difficult return to our original skin

little sips and soft kisses

a waterfall nestled in the mountains, hidden by trees

i love you again and again and again

collide by howie day

the traffic does not sound like the ocean here, the cars keep coming, i ask them what will traffic sound like in fifty years when the cars are all electric

i wonder about silence

my mother turns fifty, i know she is young, her youth relative to the age of her children and her pixie grin