Posts filed under the word project-

attempt (v).


What do I have to say for this life?
I have tried to make soft and beautiful things
I have tried to get to work on time
I have tried to be a good daughter
I have tried to get together for dinner
I have tried to understand
I have tried to see some of the world
I have tried to get myself to the ocean
I have tried to worry only about the important things
I have tried to love you
I have tried to not love you.

incoherent (adj).


This isn’t coming naturally, these words,
dusted off and dirty
my vision, blurred and averted
my heart, haggard and tired. 

This doesn’t feel brave, this work
of feeling, this work of
making sense of the world through
line and lyric, this work of
paying attention. 

The cab driver tells me
I wish I could write, you guys
get to be the narrators
of our times.

I should invite him in to see
the desk that greets me with
pages full of nonsense and
this mind full of sand, I could
pour us some scotch and we
could have a good laugh
at what the history books
will say next.

accumulate (v).


The things you left have become relics
of our love. You were surgical
about returning my belongings,
all at once and neatly.

Meanwhile I keep
the jar you filled with whiskey
that we brought to the winter market,
meanwhile one of your socks is mingled
in with mine in the drawer,
meanwhile the microwave stays at
1:17 from the morning you warmed
your coffee after it sat.

Where do I keep it all, the things
that belonged only to us?

endow (v).


It’s messy, this act of loving, this
practice of revealing and then
revealing more, we brush away
the layers in the same way you
brush my hair away from my face:
with such softness it startles me.  

You bring me down to the water
to sit at your favourite place to watch the
day end and ask me not to laugh.
I bring you into the heaviness that
spins around my mind and ask
you not to flinch from the weight of it. 

I laugh only at the marvel that
we are from different worlds and
have gathered, you flinch only at
the way I distract you from
the impossibilities that keep me up at night.

distance (n).


I want to be tangled in your morning
and in your everyday,
I want to be the softness
you return to in the evening,
I want to have busy
conversations about
how we’ll get it all done
this weekend and 
continue our argument
as a new day starts
about the merits
of coffee drinking.

I want you to
come over unannounced
to sit in my living room as I
hurry about, hardly aware
of the glory of our proximity.  

converge (v).


Sometimes I awaken to the fact 
that there is an entire world 
inside of the stranger 
next to me on the bus, they are 
full of stories and preferences, 
full of ways they like to spend time and 
places in the city they would 
recommend to a tourist and 
reasons for things and 
a whole web of people 
who love them and I 
wonder what makes us 
join some people’s worlds 
but not others. 

Sometimes I want 
to reach across to 
this stranger, also commuting, and
take their hand, but I 
don’t, I keep my world to myself.

concrete (n).


Every time you question yourself, 
“is it good?” another part of you 
turns to granite. 

 It starts with the folds of your ears 
and then moves to your knee caps, and then 
your arms will grow heavy from 
all of your doubts, hardening. 

“Is it good, this thing I’m making?  Is it, 
like I hoped, pleasing to the crowd, 
impressive to the masses?” 

My neck, my shoulders, they buckle 
from the weight, the veil of my 
eyelids cause my gaze to close 
in on itself.

enterprise (n).


Our love is audacious after
the war you were in and after
I shattered myself into sand,
we meet while the night is sleeping
and test each other with
our disappointments and
I fear sometimes that I will
lose you to your worry and
you fear you will never
have me to begin with but
we pack the car anyway,
you pick the music and I
find the map and we call it
an adventure, even with
our tired hearts and
shaky hands.

deafening (adj).


There are many kinds of silence:

There is the silence that comes
after the children are put to bed,
the hush that comes after explaining
the world to these tiny people all day,
and you tiptoe in your socks, praying
not to trip on any sharp toy that
has camouflaged itself into the rug.

There is the silence on the subway,
even with its screeching and whirring,
even with the chattering of strangers,
their world is not your world and
has somehow been put on mute as
you go from home to work, work
to dinner, dinner to home.

There is the kind of silence when you
look up to the sky and wonder about
its ceiling, you send a message on the
wind and wonder where it will land,
you whisper, “God” as a question and
listen for an echo.

There is the kind of silence planting
seeds, and you run your hands over
the soft soil, you look out over rows
of nothing and wonder if you’re the
only living thing in the field, you wonder
how you are made of the same things
as your garden, you wonder what
it looked like when you were
just a seed in the ground.

There is the kind of silence when
he is not your lover anymore and so
he stops calling, but there is also the
kind of silence when you were together
and you would look to him for a response
when you brought to him your secrets and
your quiet sadnesses and he didn’t
answer with anything at all.


slacken (v).


Remember yourself as you were
when you were your most free,
remember a time when
you let the words spill from
your chest without filter and
a time you forgot to keep
your shirt tucked in and hair
in place and remember

how it felt when you
ran towards the water without
checking your pockets for
valuables and remember

when you blurted 'I love you'
too loudly and too early without
certainty of its reciprocation. 

Remember how it felt
with your feet bare and
heart racing, and remember
that you're the same now even
though it feels like you're different. 

assessment (n).


I met you among the spruce trees, which
rustled as we tested each other by
exposing our wounds from our wars.

You took me down to the rocky riverside
and told me all the ways you came to be
and I arranged in a row all the ways
I let him down, and you brought your
hand to my hand, and I brought my eyes
to meet your eyes.