REM Stage 6: A Poetry Blog || julie niklas

Travel Plans
02/01/2011, 9:19 PM
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Only there is comfort in knowing these streets,
an approximation of the center line
fogged in spun-up tire rain
is enough.
The immeasurable buzzing like half a million
pried-off weeknight poptabs
thrashes against the hood and I have never been
so afraid of paint chipping,
never found so much solace
in local rainstorms.

Soon it will be somebody else’s
rainstorms and
somebody else’s
white lines and Michelin treads,
and I know I would do anything to have my own again.
Lost there will be strange and blind,
wherever there is.

Streets plated with water will be
mirror-harsh and no need for reflection can
soften the image,
the one where I am not in Lexington,
the one where I miss the familiar stop signs,
the too-short merge lanes and the hidden drives.
It will always rain,
it will always hit me like a skyload of half-
cracked teacups,
the sound of ceramic shattering
on the pavement around me,
marking a certain sort of geography.


02/23/2010, 7:24 PM
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The minute I heard your thumbnail click on the lighter I
wanted out. Wanted to run like hell out of there and torch every picture of you I had left,
gut the house in search of an empty frame and a clay pot for the ashes.
The minute the butane ignited and spat out a tongue of yellow I wanted to
slam your hand into the candle, melt you inside the hot wax like a
scarab in amber resin.
There was not time for candles and afternoon nonsense with it raining like that.
And not just raining, plummeting from the sky like an
ocean on top of us, white noise and all, pellets hitting rock-hard-enough to split skin.
I was not going to let you light anything while it was raining like that.
I wanted the world to expel you from its throat, do anything to get your thumb
away from that lighter because I was done with you always
having to bring light to things. I would have cut breaker wires to keep the
light in the rain.

10/15/2009, 7:13 PM
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I had a rainy day moment.
I saw you, cold as a memory in
your terrycloth robe
shimmering and threadbare
about to evaporate and
become the gray cloud
weighing like deadweight on
my shoulders.

09/24/2009, 11:08 PM
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It rains without
warning or reason.
The sky is
dusted eggshell tint,
and the water
slants down,
battering itself in bounceback
on the roof,
like the sky is trying
to break its vow to
the clouds by
throwing its diamonds away.
I am filled with
rain like this.
I am filled with
noise and storm. There is
then nothing.