These burdens weigh me down, steal the air as it bubbles out of my lungs, but I gather them up, from person to person to person
By Kay Husnick8 months ago in Poets
The dishes are piling up again overflowing from the sink across the counter, the stovetop, the consequences of my own inaction,
Wash and cut a lime, split it even into halves Is there a version of me on another timeline wondering what I am doing now?
By Kay Husnick9 months ago in Poets
I didn't fall in love; I waded into it, saw it ahead of me and dipped my toes into the glimmering blue, tested the waters, found them fine, and called for you to join me.
By Kay Husnick12 months ago in Poets
I don't want to live in 1984, where the facts aren't treated as facts anymore. I don't want the nationalism and isolation,
Some days are heavy reminders of mistakes made a call to the bank and the credit bureaus, a form submitted to the FCPB, a few hours sorting through stored items kept too long,
You make the romantic in me feel hopeful. The heartsick long-distance lover swoons, and the holiday's date grows insignificant;
I have dated so many men who looked at me like I placed the stars in the sky, who listened to my voice like their favorite song,
By Kay Husnickabout a year ago in Poets
we were never a good fit you had to turn your wrist just right to hold my hand comfortably you would wrap your arms around me in a bear hug, your head putting pressure on my neck
I miss you I say it through hundreds of miles a dozen times a day, in silent moments on phone calls, in endless messages after hours of nothing.
Why wouldn't I be? He asks as I marvel over his patience, his kindness, his version of the bare minimum, and slowly, I'm learning he's right,
I read a poem today that said it is hard to look at someone when you know you destroyed them, that this is why people disappear,
