The Empty Apartment

I draw a deep breath,

An empty chair sits in the corner

Hastily scribbled notes scattered

Around the desk, abandoned

Like lilacs in battle filed

Wandering eyes rest among the

Clumped clothes, a black sequined

Scarf pokes pathetically from

Among the ruins of our lives,

Staring at me, accusing me

A half-eaten apple still

Sits on the top the fridge, next

To the owl totems from the time

We visited the dead shaman,

You used believe in

The movers are here,

Walking up the narrow stairs

Stomping feet leaving shoe marks,

You so hate, across the Floor,

Our floor

The empty boxes laid in front of me

Forcing decisions I never wanted

To make, what to keep and what

To ditch, how much luggage to leave

For the insidious new occupants

Comments

Some Other Time

We will be counting days again, till we say hello again— only for us to say goodbye again. We always knew we’d have to say our goodbyes one day. Then why does it hurt so? Even so, when we know it won’t be long before even goodbyes are a luxury. We cling to hopes— that this isn’t the only life we will live. That one day, we will meet again, in some other life, in some other time, where we won’t have to say G oodbye.

Undelivered Package

There is an uprising coming it was supposed to be here yesterday but I suppose it is lost in the mail who do I write to the website had no address only a small warning goods once sold can not be returned maybe I should have known then not to trust Nigerian princes with unclaimed millions and fully functional revolutions leftover from the days of the next war Maybe it is stuck at customs maybe it would have been better to wait for my cousin to travel in, so he could sneak it in packed neatly between airport toblerone and contraband iphones

In Barely Discernible Darkness

I will trace the Jhelum Across Your back with my fingers In barely discernible darkness It will form a paisley Drawn from the memory of An imagined Kashmir No language spoken by Man or Gods shall be Uttered that night Words will be melded, Sentences molded to form A new language of love The ink, a fine powdered Amethyst, shall dry as We write its grammar The quill tips, fashioned From old bones, shall Burn in its blaze The room will be Full of scorch marks In barely discernible darkness -- Tz

Tasenda

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