ERICA L'HUILLIER
this poet is an old soul in a young body, and has her finger directly on the pulse of the 'short' verse. each is an exquisite nugget of moment and it is an undeniably admirable trait to be able to say so very much with such economy. a lot to be admired in this writer's work.
crooked
the way you hung up
the telephone a few years back has
left me crooked
sad
after enough time, i can't tell
if the mess i'm trying
to wipe from my face
is made of tears or spit
I am adam and green is my favourite colour
eve is the name
of my girlfriend. she likes
to show her love
through berry pies. we eat
them together at noontime.
i am going into town
to buy her an apple
recipe book.
(he drives)
jamie and i, we ride
in the car for moments
and moments listening
to ocean sounds of air
coming fast in the windows.
***
i apologise, you accept
with lips on my cheek, and i wish
i hadn't been so cordial
***
as fingers weave between ribs and breasts
a plump moon rests
her eyes behind crescent spectacles
***
with an empty
house, i lie
on the couch,
pretend it is a
doctor’s, and tell
the ceiling
my worries.
***
we are alone as
cacti in evening deserts
under a plump moon
***
i come back from a shower
and stand in the door
frame pouting without any clothes on
***
this is the sort of sad
that comes after a great deal
of cold
there is no bruise
just the quiet
***
you lead me
fingers tight around fingers
to the peppermints section. i smile
in a way that keeps
lipstick from teeth as you point
pick some out, a reward for being lovely
***
when something goes wrong
between us, i am the pancake
in the skillet as the maple syrup
runs out
***
nobody walks a dog
at eleven in the evening, but leaning
on this rail, i hope
somebody will
nerves
the top of my insides
drawn to the bottom
with cold, blind fingers
***
morning birds are different
from daytime birds
daytime birds are not
laced together with dust and melody
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