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Before, I peel each layer carefully,
I baptise in the memory of that night
when you coaxed me into the bathtub
licked all over me with your bubbling tongue
pressed my thighs and breasts
before we had sex on the bathroom floor.
I cut through the pale green leafy vegetable
which will soon be shredded into bits,
seasoned with coconut
and cooked to my husband’s favourite thoran.
But before I offer myself in bed
for probing, fingering and shredding,
I wash myself in the scent of mustards and curry leaves
popping and swishing,
making music in an oily tub.

*thoran- a vegetable cuisine popular in Kerala, India

The day you died i became fluent in silence
The only words i wished to voice
Stolen from me by your own passing
Carved out of my soul while yours craved for rest

The news pierced my skin like a silent bullet
My body numb to the pain that settled under my fingertips
And the words i wished to tell you still lingering in the ink of my pen
Senteced to be written and read but never feel the closure of being said

The day you died i became fluent in my quietude
Grief stranggling my every thought
Burrying more than just your corpse and memories underground
A piece of me intertwined with the dirt that now covered your heart

The tears stinging my eyes but feeling too torn within my new fluency
Devoted to the words i wished to part from you with
Left abandoned to be seen as an ancient relique
A proof that love transcends death

The day you died i became fluent in sorrow, in pain and grief
None of which i knew how to express myself in
leaving me quiet, covering up the goodbye i wished to give you
leaving me silent, carrying the weight of never more seeing you

insta : sofssmatos
Youtube : allforlilsofs

his. social network
filled with dead links

his. calls,
increasing volume without joy

his. sleeping in a chair
while those around converse

M. could but
where would it lead instead?

Her, in tireless
automatons make morning

come awake in kitchen clean
the slow grind of eggs against metal

I love like a bad dog
I’m soft, and sweet, and gentle–
Until I’m sharp teeth and terror.
I don’t mean to bite,
but my lips curl back
to show my sharp, shining teeth.

When people leave me, they leave with bite marks.
I hold on too hard, I hurt people.
I never learned to submit.
I never learned to let go.
I’m restless, I’m harsh, and despairing.
I’m the stray dog you were warned not to pet.

I claw at closed doors
until my paws bleed.
Nails shattering on the siding
of a house that was never my home.
I just want someone to let me in,
to save me from the cold, dark night.

My teeth ache, heavy with memories,
they were never meant to hold.
I bite down, desperately,
because letting go feels like losing.
Bruised and bloody, I hang in there,
the champion of a fight that will have no winners.

I’m not the kind of animal
that knows how to separate love from pain.
I’m not the kind of beast
that can soften in the face of fear.
I’m the kind of dog that keeps fighting,
even when surrender is the only way out.

I get mean when I’m afraid.
I’m a bad dog dying to find a way to be good.
I want to collapse at your feet,
belly up, open and surrendering.
I don’t want to fight anymore.
I just never learned a better way to get you to stay.

She’s ruined me,
And my dream.
Her ruby heart
Blinds our art.

Full black eye,
We’re far apart.
And I believe the irony

Is what makes us strong.

And we can try to pry
Our nights away, we’re not smart.
Full of laughs and purity.

When we’re together, it must go wrong.

You can plead your case
My wish is your desire.
An eerie reminder of love from a prior
Broken soul, torn to face

A fountain of youth,
Failing to tell our truth.

She’s ruined me
And my dream.
Her ruby heart
Blinds our art.

Full black eye.
We’re far apart.

When we’re together, it must go wrong?

I once had a girl
and her name was Romania.
I loved her, I did,
but she left on Tuesday.

We had us some fun
and drank us some beers,
but then she stole all my photos
and emptied out all of her drawers.

Gone is my love
and gone is her junk;
I just shot the last gram
she left in my trunk.

Alone, by the phone,
I call out her name,
with face soaked with tears
and beers of the same.

She threatened strange suicides
wailing pink pills and bloodstains.
The joke was on everyone
when she hacked up her veins.

I loved her, I did,
and I called her the flower.
I’d give up all of time
just to see her this hour.

But death is death
when the blood is spilt:
The love drains out
and the flower, she wilts.

Her mother got pissed
and called up a posse;
they came looking’ for me
with an eight-by-ten glossy.

When they broke down my door,
I was waiting with lead
—shot her once in the gut,
and again in the head

An ode to the birds,
who were up at 3 am
with this bullshit

An ode to making a cup
of tea this morning, a
warm and tender thought

I will sing to you
like I should have
sang at your funeral

The tears that did not
fall the first day or week
fell tenfold in the year to come

I am done with this pain, take it away now
I feel strangely calm
today, like I can do this

T h a n k y o u f o r a l w a y s t a k i n g c a r e o f m e

I will be there soon

Plan your escape today,
be as swift as the
winds that swept this life away

A toast to the roommates
I could have never chosen for myself but sorely
needed

An ode to car crashes,
may that be my last one

An ode to sleepless nights,
may you never have one
you didn’t need

An ode to 5:30 am, this is
the only season where it’s
daylight out now

An ode to my father, in
his blue-rimmed glasses
and his dress shirts

An ode to all the women
who came before me, artists
and storytellers, who
gave me these gifts
which I cultivate and
give to you

An ode to grey skies,
today you are sorely
needed

An ode to my mother,
who’s keen eye and steady
lateness meant we weren’t
athletic children
I had to find the
spark within me instead
Thank you

There could never be a
daughter who loved her
father more than I love
you
and equally,
There could never be a father
who loved his daughter more
than I love you

Another season begins. The parents
of young runners have arrived to rake up
the walnuts, to mark ravines with bright flags
and paint the long gnarled tree roots white.
They step through shafts of morning sun,
painstaking and meticulous, as if
they’d been charged with raising the dead
at Troy, or mapping the half-submerged spine
of some fantastic beast, now eons old,
whose winding skeleton stretches for miles.
As if lighting the ghost bones
could keep us safe.

There by the tears
Of the place
When the stillness sent
Some drops of rain twisting about

You have no spirit you have no warmth
When you’ve heard the lock on the door
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me from dying, rage and fiercest grief
Be alert the snakes lie at your feet
Is there any other who suffers so hard a fate?
And since you know these walls and binding chains
Of this cold prison hide me in its depths

You are blind you are desperate
When you walk down trails pathless
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me stumbling
Thru these streets filled with restless dreams
My eyes frowning at the sun when the morning comes
Is there any way to escape these laws of destiny?
And since you are walking between night
And dawn of day it is here you shall remain

You have no insight you have no reflection
You’ve heard the shadows call
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me from suffering and dismay
Know that we all fall
Are there any words not so tired to do any good?
And since you’ve given me the answer
Take what is left for yourself