still warm summer sencha

by Jamie Gersh

And in this sun, all our talk of suicide
seems like nothing.

You will be leaving for London soon,
and with you: your bones so close
to surface of skin. I thread
your fingers with the bird
bones within them through my own

and try to nest
in the imprint.

Small Bombs

by Jamie Gersh

Kitchen floor, eyes
wide with terror of drawer's closing.

Curled up, set off; can't
stop you running out
the back door. You can't
help but bring it with you, that weight
that you carry, that I carry now too.
If only I could reach you:
lover in child, child in lover.

But between us there's a minefield
exploding in hurtful bursts
with each misstep. Get out of my house,
bitch! and I'm leaving, wish I'd never been

here! and wanting love, we destroy
each other on the sharp, metal seeds like bb gun
pellets planted by hands not our own.

Destroyed, you and me:
all the un-set, healed-over bones heal up

right this time. Clear the stage of wreckage,
make a path for us to walk without pain.
This growth is ours even if we never
asked for it.

Let's teach it to be
kind.

Accidental Voodoo

by Jamie Gersh

Her hands curl and uncurl like kelp,
as too much water to hold fills her, empty
and full in all the wrong places.

She'll drown like you almost did.
Know it even before the water
begins to rise.

Once you would have held your breath
in fearful sympathy
when camera shot below sea level
(when it surfaced again, you'd have to be reminded to breathe).

Sauteing mushrooms in a pan still feels like hurting you.
You on the other side of the world, too far away
to breathe killer allergen air.

Memory is not your effigy,
and yet I fear the needles in it.