Sonnet for the Physical Therapist Who Told Me This is Just the Way the Good Lord Made Me
Billie R. Tadros
It’s a sin,
to desire different architecture, I’m told
It’s a sin,
to desire different architecture, I’m told
in a cellar not far from here, wine waits years to peak
before a bottle is cracked open only to empty
a bruise.
Burying me # alive
in training pants and # rags is my son’s
# gift of sorts
Southward
You are the big blue sky
I never thought you would have
The moment when you turn your head over
So the water freezes
So the ginkgo falls
So the wall full of photos is also pale
And
just looked outside
to see what’s going on
whatever it
is thursday
precious, beautiful
whatever as ever
and i can’t
pry my hand
off the windowsill
i’m driving the future
it’s a
You had one of those
shag haircuts that all lesbians
in Brooklyn have we sipped
your favorite pink drink
From champagne flutes as the
sun bled crimson and the air
crisped between us you’ve
Hiring Bodyman
This city hates me
I get so tired
of waiting
for you
I groom myself
Now all I have to do
is show up at your door
& you’ll call me sweetheart
forever
I hate
that was the year that all the carnivals came to town. sounds like a fake small town thing, but when you live in a small town, all the things that happen are fake small town things, except they’re
i think you can learn a lot about a person
based on their Super Smash Bros main. or starsign.
or by asking. how convenient to be told? to learn
in spite of our own misgivings. part of growing
I wake to the shuffle of wind along the sill.
The soft moon hue weighs on my blanket, saying nothing.
From the fragile dark, experiences remembered
become rocks tied to my ankles and feelings churn
Years later, he asked “Do you still use this email?”
and I replied “No.”
Sometimes
trauma is a prerequisite for softness.
It depends on where you’re from,
and who you ask, but you should always ask.
hemos vuelto heridos de una guerra que todavía no empieza
yo perdí una de mis extremidades
y él las perdió todas
according to my mother, men
are just thieves rifling through another’s calm...
You can never return to the track. A hard truth, heaven knows, but heed me— delay the wreck
and coma. Take a longer backwards way and savor that last downhill run, the final door to close.
...she told me she had lived in Singapore
too long to call it home anymore. She hated her name so together we made
her a new one, & like this she finally belonged to herself.
Remember when Lena Dunham said
She wished she’d had an abortion?
Is this new relationship self-sabotage in disguise, or is it the cure?
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Not be be missed!