salmon papillote

minted yellow drops

sweet and douce

I was trying to write a poem about

salmon and lemon papillote recipe.

He loves to eat; eat salmon, cod, tuna and shrimp

shrimp risotto

am I in love with him?

there’s 900+ photos in this whatsapp folder

they’re all gobsmacked

haha, yeah that’s a word. it is!

I said go away and he left and i

he left —!


that was sad and stupid and unfair

and I

just couldn’t explain the

empty crackle of a blank bluetooth

i love his face

that glistening emerald green

shirt and blue sea

a warmth that radiates

and undulates

through plastic mirror screens;

if I even try —

am i trying? or should i?

he’s my sun, he makes me shine

my sun and not “my son”

— i always think of that

but i can see through the melting gray gloom

i’m laughing at how lame i am

i can see back the first days and

last days i don’t want to see;

there are some surprises i want to save

in a locked up board of my


that tiny gray icon on the corner

minty walls & white pillows in

chevron and damask

Processed with VSCOcam



there’s me

I’m here

I can see his smile, rocking in his

convoluted Bahamian chair

the beige hexagons, lacquered, against his

soft skin      pink back pocked

through a thin summer shirt

he’s there

happy and calm     and peaceful, with her

— I love them like that:    together

in love

its beautiful, they’re beautiful and I

can see them,

can see his soft writer’s hands

— way they always were;

i remember how they felt

to hold; when they held mine

and smiled, the years of



fingers of an indoors man

i can see him cross off lines

with other long lines,

lips: incantation

rhythmic recitation of

arabic and

bubbled & flourished

english alphabets in religious

errors and misnomers

— I’m here

a whirl of wintry wind

in early spring: and

i can see the unkempt

earthen mound,

behind, the mossy lime wall

i know its soft and cold

but nothing so soft of his pale

age-soaked arms,

brown sunspots & beloved little dots

I am here and i can feel

hugging his tropical warm chest

i’m here and it smells of home

his indoor sweat and

soft gray hair

I’m here

and I feel

his smile beneath his beard