THREE POEMS by Malik Thompson
Untitled
1.
but last night, a moth kissed my forehead
while i slept—
& its wings were soft
& so my dreams were softened.
dreams of silverfish
& paper chewed to pulp.
dreams of turning
the pillow over.
2.
but last night, you slept
beside me
&, as a moth,
kissed my forehead.
3.
i see your wings
in daylight
pressed into your back.
my love,
blue moth-prince
my dreams were thorns
& nails.
Insomnia
unrelenting nightmare velvet
& pale asters a quiet grammar
the silver twine woven
around my heart & lungs
evaporated midnight cloud
blood cardinal willow branch
confessions of an absent god
confessions of a god-hunter
this savage garden of baby’s breath
& thorns hogweed & oleander
catmint strangling
all other roots
my sleep the dominion of blue ether
my pillowcase black with ink
Self Portrait as Comfy Mattress
1
the heft of a deflating ribcage, those graceful sweeps of bone protecting what is vital & soft
2
how the first blades of sunlight can caress a stirring cheek & bad dreams burn away as rose-orange beams lay kisses upon the eyes
3
in lieu of a lover’s arms, I offer you pillows & blankets. a neck held gently by something firm
4
yet, a loneliness dwells there still. before bed, dahlias almost erupted from your chest
5
you were waiting for correspondence from someone thousands of miles away, someone who awakens to air saturated with another ocean’s salt
6
why love a person who dwells beside distant water
7
how a single text can scythe away wildflowers threatening to overtake
8
the heart
9
in dim lamplight, you placed the phone facedown on the floor. breathed
three quick breaths before glancing in its direction. it didn’t shudder
or make a sound. you’ve grown too old for magical thinking
10
they love me, they love me not
11
chanted the trespassing flowers
12
there were your thoughts: spiraling through the dim lit bedroom
13
while streetlamps blazed & peered into your window. your room is on the third floor of some house
14
& you love this house—the languid years you’ve lived here—but birds & tall structures know nothing of privacy
15
you’d prefer to spiral in private
16
&, before bed, there was no new text. nothing sharp to prevent green stems
17
from rising up from the crypt of your anxiety:
18
a strange pressure in the skull. no pain, just a deeper attention
to how the body can sometimes be a trap. the need for food & touch, the neverending
needs of flesh. it was 1 am that saved
19
you. eyelids shut by no will of your own. sleep arrived like the plucked feathers of geese
20
& I held you while you slept
