Skip navigation

Tag Archives: city

Cigarettes have a subtle way of slathering succulence
to the itty bitty
holes inside my person
I was surprised to see so many holes were there
but in the moment those vacant lots
began to fill up with air
I was
full again

with emptier pockets
and bigger holes

I accused
the cigarette, called it perpetrator
for poking fingers
into open wounds
just to see how far it could go before touching bone
when really
it was the wound to blame
for foolishly inviting an arsonist in for company
into my home

Don’t you know
how
smoke
persuades
me
and my wounds
dance
when wounds
know very well
the first toke could be my last
but damn,
what’s another inhale
to an exhale
what’s another inhale to an exhale full in its release
with a consistency of relief
when every inhale is a struggle
every breath making the concept of Life
seem like a disease

Between being under the influence
between having a choice
and having a chance
in the end
every feeling, person, and habit will experience death
no matter how, what or why
no matter how good of a dancer you are
no matter how good you are
at frisking the sky
you will surprise yourself… and then you will die

and while you’re aware of your dying
that’s when you’re really living

Maybe
I won’t smoke the other half of yesterday’s cigarette tonight

maybe

instead

I will meditate
on who’s smoking the other half of me

Britta B.

Advertisements

Virtually trapped on a
literal locomotive
I go places only with my body
while my mind sits, stuck working
overtime
filing memories from the wastebasket
into fresh refurbished cabinets

Oh this present
just isn’t as good as
what I can make the past become…

Britta B.

I hate the word “speechless”
but the English language is what I speak most
yet, amongst all of the letters and the sounds and the meanings it consists of
I have nothing to say
nothing true enough in its form to describe the immense amount of
appreciation I have for you

Lil’ buddy, you make me embarrassingly proud

I can react to disappointment like an animal
use my outdoor voice to spill my best kept secrets
slam a door in your face
act a fool
cry, pig out, cry, leave the country, cry,
not talk to you for days (because that’s all we can ever really last)
go out and make friends with strange and unusual people
use words I don’t know the meanings of and cry
let myself think for a moment that it’s possible to lose you then cry some more
and there you’ll be – right beside me on a stoop
somewhere, anywhere because this city is ours
no matter how many names deface it with graffiti we can’t read

The other day, you tried reading my palm with a stack of cards you found in a house
you keep coming back to despite your plans and executions  
and I wondered –
what are you really trying to tell me that
I don’t already know?

And now I remember
how you’ve always been a reminder
a red tie around my finger
a badge of honour, a souvenir
you are the acceptance speech I wrote when I was 6 years old
after throwing crying fit in my closet
because you get me when words fail me

There is no sound for this

It’s not like me to be the unlikely me so upfront, so close and personal
but you welcome me
and there is no sound for this
there is no sound in welcoming the unsound
it is merely a silent
ovation
  

Britta B.

*LOVE YOU, LIL BUDDY!! HAPPY 25th BIRTHDAY
MAY ALL YOUR HAKIM “THE DREAM”‘s COME TRUE!!!* 

I feel like I’m waiting for a moment
a specific moment
a breakthrough
a gasping breath of fresh air and
I’m making my way around the city, determined
to gather the right
people, spirits, energies
at the right time
in the right place.

I’ve had moments resemble
this moment, but I know
I’m preparing for a bigger
moment – one that
lasts, one that stays
doesn’t leave me, no
matter how many times
I tell it to go
away.

I am a lighthouse moving like water beside fire
looking
for a moment to boom.

Britta B.