blessed soldier boy — Cahill Writes

via blessed soldier boy — Cahill Writes

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Spring Cleaning

snowypoetry

Smooth stones in itchy winter coats float down the bay and around the slope

of lost seasons and picture frames lost in flood plains

of you, holding on to me with strong shoulders, so near your boiling point.

Tire chains were attached and caught on dirty fishing line

call out my name with each creature swimming by,

it carries its message back and fourth to me and to anyone who might lend an ear,

Reaching out

and grasping

for off-chance of health and holding on to keep from pulling under.

Into the depth of the sea we roll,

around each other’s bodies

and through every siren call,

brushing against small feet and chlorophyl.

Here, we know ourselves better.

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The Lease

snowypoetry

You’re probably still sitting there on the floor where I left you.

You refused everything else, but I tried to give you a place where you could rest.

You said you were happier refusing me and my help,

because this act of defiance somehow makes you stronger-minded

and more of a man.

You said you didn’t want my charity

because it has never done anything for you before,

but now I have a bed and a new place to call home

and it would have been part of you.

You said that you had nothing to worry about

because I’d be there with you,

always and forever sure did take a steep turn.

From scratching your head and asking you about your day,

you didn’t know that you could lose a person over this.

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NAKED BODY

puttingthedogtosleep

Lungs become steam

Clouding out mouth

Raining down mirror,

Window, leaves of reaching houseplants

Spread calmly, greenly as a forest.

My body is full of lavender,

Like the canvas pouches my grandmother

Would bring back from France.

We had our baths at her house

And she’d hold a sea-sponge at the top of our spines

And sigh over our French-ladies’ necks,

Then Grandad would clip our nails.

I made up a heaven for my little sister

That existed down the drain-

It was where all the bubbles popped,

And toys lost went.

I don’t know how we forget our bodies so easily,

How we resist the landscapes that settle there.

Fields of lavender, and garlic leaves,

Cliff faces and rock pools.

Our grandparents let my sister eat

Crab sandwiches, and I remember not figuring

How that white meat came from such stubborn shells

With sharp limbs and pincers

I alone…

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