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Cinquain
You sat
up in my bed,
turned off the alarm clock,
kissed me goodbye, and went home to
your wife
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Heidi's poetry
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CARDS
Threes and fours and sevens red
Twos—like me
Fives—like you,
Black and Grey,
The Jack of Spades
Tens pretend
While Aces end.
Club, Heart, Diamond, Bitch
The Queens—
The inevitable unscratchable itch
Apathy apathy apathy apathy
My God, you people depress me.
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I am Langston Hughes
I am Langston Hughes.
I am an undeniable part of you.
I dream of a land that is fair and new.
I dream of America being true.
I am Lucille Clifton.
I am a woman with hips of freedom.
I’ve seen dreams sag in the shoes of men
And I stand up through their destruction.
I am Maya Angelou.
A phenomenal woman who amazes you.
The fellas swarm when I enter a room.
I am the essence of female virtue.
You are Langston Hughes,
We—two are Langston Hughes.
We are the pallbearers on Lenox Avenue.
We are the one black student in the room.
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Photo Negativity
Even in life
You look like a photograph
That I want to draw on and cover
With sticky fingerprints.
I want to dip my hands
in chalk and slate,
And rub out the colorful life
in your face.
I will dust over you.
I will brush you away
To a far away place
Where your colors are mute
And your voices are gray.
I will dry up the moisture in your eyes,
That makes people think you glimmer and shine,
That you’re young, and beautiful
And wise.
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I don’t know
I don’t know what to write.
Day and night my stomach growls,
I wait for never and when and now,
And I don’t know what to write.
I don’t know what to be.
Doctor, addict, fortuneteller,
Jekyl and Hyde, appointment setter,
Nothing epitomizes me.
I don’t know what to say.
My mouth chews on vacant words
And spits out the nouns and verbs.
You catch them and throw them away.
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Walk
One summer afternoon I met with you
And we walked all day for months and months
Eating apples and mangos
‘Til our chins dripped with juice
A perpetual picnic of magic and lust.
We walked from Canada to Sri Lanka,
Through Yellow, Rouge and Blanca.
Hitting the blackest of waters
At the end of the day…
I closed my eyes,
And you swam away.
Sometimes when I see you now,
You pick me up and spin me ‘round,
And put me back where you found me,
Disoriented and dizzy.
One afternoon I met with you
And we walked all day for years and years
Eating apples and excuses
‘Til our faces dripped with tears.
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Paper People
In my head the paper people live
With nothing to say, and nothing to give.
They fold. They cut and paste
All their sorry paper days away,
How I wish they would come out and play,
But they just sit and waste the page.
In my world the paper people burn,
The flames consume their paper heads,
Melting screams of crayon red,
And bleeding out colors to the sea of the end.
Goodbye my paper friends.
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I am…
I am a piece of tape
On your counter you pick and scrape
I leave a sticky skuzzy paste,
And I never really go away.
I am your worst imagined fate,
I am cancer.
I am chronic pain.
I am the end of your life
As you shrivel away,
Pale and gray, you fade
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Swimming
In three feet of water I swim for you,
My knees dragging on the ground,
And chlorine clinging to my wounds.
You say the water burns your eyes,
They are red and cracked and they
Seem to subtract from likeness of your demise.
When the water is dry and the darkness is light,
I ponder what next to do.
You say you’d like to frolic in leaves,
While I long to examine the roots.
You say you’d like to go out somewhere,
While I’d rather stay in my room.
In my bed of papers and pens,
You sit and cry till my ink runs out
Wishing for the pain to end—
A friend without a friend
Without a friend.
In three feet of water I swim with you
Because without me, you might drown.
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Your House
There’s a house inside my head
In which you live so unaware.
Your house, your love, your mansion,
A thousand stairways leading nowhere.
Broken windows. Endless ceilings…
Not built of brick, or steel, or stone
But only on my wasted feelings
And a dream of coming home
To you—your character consuming me,
Your consistent positivity
That I would normally be bothered by,
But I’m not. I’m not sure why.
If you knew you lived inside of me,
You’d pack your bags and go away.
So I will never breath a word of this
And in this house, you will always stay.
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Heidi's drunken poetry - Read at your own risk (It Sucks!)
Heidi's short short stories:
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