i write ectoplasmic kissing scenes and
substitute our names like a secret i am
the only one to know. i am standing at
the arcade penny-pushing but i have
run out of copper coins. out of all the
things i regret you are my favourite.
there’s a mathematical formula here
somewhere that i am missing. i thought
i put it in the dishwasher but there’s
nothing there, i just wanted to take out
the recycling and give you something of
mine that you will have to give back as
surety that this one won’t be the last.
the pavement is crawling along the
earth, i watch it moving very very very
slowly — i want to go back and check
the dishwasher again, to see if that god
damn answer can be found in the sink
or swim. so much of this weight doesn’t
even belong to me. this kitchen doesn’t
even belong to me. i want to put the
weight in the dishwasher, whiz it clean.
i want everybody to stop calling me a
girl. i am selling things for free, buying
air and internet spaces. i think i will only
eat on thursdays, i think i will only write
poems in these clothes right here. i think
i will eat myself up on thursday, until i am
just right. i think there are deities shivered
tiny and blessed in your wrists. out of all the
things i regret you are my favourite.
by tori aitken
