A collection of poems written from the margins
Exile
It is lovely
when someone waits for you -
a figure held in time,
a door left open on purpose.
Lovelier still
when the waiting has no hour,
no signal,
no proof it is happening at all.
A waiting that does not call your name,
does not stand at the edge of the street,
does not grow tired in public.
There are places
where waiting is rehearsed.
Where doors open
only if you arrive on cue.
Where love is safe
because it is supervised.
At the center,
nothing moves unless it is instructed to.
The most important thing
was invisible -
and now you know this
by the way nothing waits.
Maya & Tara
One girl arrives on time,
and one girl had to move first.
One risks annihilation,
the other risks embarrassment.
They had to survive each other
and the invisible cages made of cushions.
When you are doomed,
you burn as brightly as you can
before you are erased.
At the center,
there is a script to be performed.
At the margins,
there is choice,
fear,
love.
Freedom without security
or security without freedom.
Consequences begin
Yes costs you something.
No costs you something.
Choosing to lie.
Choosing to abandon a name.
Identity calcifies
at the first point of no return.