nataliekresen’s posterous

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October 27, 2009

(a little poem)

My little cherry
heart aches

at all the
pleasantries
we must fake. 
 
All the happy/smiling/pain-staking faces
we must create.

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October 3, 2009

they sing.

I want you
to pet the palms 
of my hands with your 

thumbs. Kiss

the salt off my face. 

Want to see 
past our 
eyelids       beating 
like butterfly wings

into 

the heart of things
where our 
dysfunctional

little armies 
sing: you,
they sing: you, you,

you, you,

u.

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June 19, 2009

It's Friday, you should:

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June 8, 2009

Purify, my soul

Things are happening lately that I don't understand
like puddles of rain rising,
evaporating out of
my mouth.
 
My mouth: coughing up steam, crying out
stories, I'm pulsing with
memories racing
like blood clots through my veins.
 
They say we store memories in the
body like fat, hold them deep within
our skin.
 
Past traumas just dormant.
 
A kink in the knee, an ache in the
back, it's all there, intertwined with
us like colors of paint, swirling with blood,
guts,
oxygen.
 
They say the mind maps
our response systems. It takes a long
time to rewire a brain, carve out new
pathways for thinking.
 
This is not easy
to do.
Takes years of hard
work, diligence, commitment.
 
We are afraid of our own power,
we mute it, dilute it with doubt.
 
Doubt--
 
we swallow like pills, keeping us in
our safe little worlds.
 
Fear--
 
I throw it up, 
shovel it out like rocks
in soil, dig down deep,
purify, my soul.
 

 

 

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April 24, 2009

Things We Do Not Say

It was a day in fall (warm) and the sun
shone through the icy morning. An old man
 
limped down the sidewalk, dirt
smeared across his face.
So much of life exists in the
things we do not say.
 
Like I am scared and don't
leave me. Because we don't
want to relive our birth.
 
We seek that envelopment all our lives.
And leaves blow down
the street, alone. Crumble into bits.
 
And the old man's shoe catches one,
drags it
alongside him, and that dead
leaf, it makes a sound
like the feel of a rough man's beard.

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April 22, 2009

me home

I walked away,
hand over heart,
waiting
 
for the pain to sound,
 
waiting for it to open
 
its wet mouth and
cry, noise
 
falling
 
like crumpled
newspaper from my lips.
  
Waited patiently for that pain
 
but all I heard
was a whisper
 
rising
 
flesh covers your bones,   my dear,   
                    
                 I am 
 
still     here 
                foryou
               
So I swallowed those sounds, swallowed
each last letter and
 
picked myself up, cradled
 
              me home.
 
 
 

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April 21, 2009

Never leave

 
My mind's r u  nn  ing     rapid-                      you
you          ,             you               .       I             can't             stop
thinking      about        the
lack              of             you
that               surrounds              me.             There's
too      much                   space            to                              breathe.
I'm            getting        light          headed      off
this        e n d  l  e  s  s            flow              of
o x y g e n . Block
it.
Box
     me
in.
Tangle me
in sheets until
I can't move
and then, and
then and then
leavenever.
 
 

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April 8, 2009

I throw the cast net, let it catch
air
&
 
e x p a n d,
 
billowing outwards,
opening its guttural mouth
to the sea.
 
But it tangles against
the current, twisting like sediment
in wine.
 
I pull it in &
release, again.
This time it's heavy
& wet & it
 
doesn't quite open 
the same.
 
--
 
I'd thought          catching
                                       & releasing
 
would be easy,
 
thought it'd be
no
 
thought
at all.
 
I'd forgotten you can't force
 
the wind, the seas
to work
with a net.

No, that
 
they must decide to do on their own.
 
 

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February 24, 2009

In case you don't

In case you don't want

to cry, think of balloon
animals, their pink tails left
without air. 

Think of chasing
the neighbor girl
who said something
mean about 
your mother

and tripping on the 
asphalt
in your worn out 
dirty shoes, laces loose and
tangled on 
the sidewalk.

And the scent
of wet
pavement, decaying
leaves, dying mule worms.

Think of your grandmother's perfume,
heavy as wood, hanging
in the air, and the taste of
snow on a woolen mitten.

Think of how you used
to dream while awake and saw
faces smiling, people dancing
in the clouds. 

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January 6, 2009

A poem for Carlo and everyone else

Let it go,
she says. Let
it go.

It's the
yearning that
eats away the lining,

bald & pale like a
newborn baby
bird. Let
it go.

The tighter we cling
the deeper we kill
suffocating
lungs with each
embrace.

I'm so tired.
Tired
of crushing bones
& burning holes
in my
heart.

Let it go.
Do it, open those
clenched hands
and fill them

with nothing.
The nothing is whole,
deep & heavy, it'll

erase all this wanting.

This wanting
that makes us cry like
newborn babies,
cancer patients,
drug addicts,
human
beings.

Let it go, let it go, let it
go--

Breathe
and be satisfied.

With these shaky hands I shall
release my fears, my longing, my desire,
with these open hands I shall
release the part of me that's
cry i n g .

Fuck waiting, Iet it go
the dying,
crying,
wanting,
lying.

Rebuild these walls with
emptiness.

Stop waiting here, quit
lying.
--

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