One word
too many syllables, perhaps just the
long stretches of time
between you opening your mouth
and me catching the words in my
sweaty palm–
a butterfly squeezed
into my tight fist,
a butterfly
I have waited to capture
now smother,
now kill.
The longing.
How mediocre of me to be like
so many before me
unconditionally normal in my habits
of love.
The predictability of a smooth touch
no insects on the loose
in my stomach.
A deep flock of birds across a sky
as we drive down roads for miles.
they change formation for me,
I hold on to the patterns
like balloon strings
Love is found in the place where
longing and mediocracy meet,
in that spot that used to be
a gushing well of romance
now a boarded-up corner restaurant
We know love needs kindling so
we tell stories of the past
we light the longing on fire
and turn it into waves,
hope they carry us far and long
enough
to find that new place
where mediocrity will take
us in with warm open arms,
comfort us.
“Welcome home,” it will say,
“This is good, it’s what we’ve got.
Some even call it love.”
Naomi Anne Goldner is a San Francisco-based writer of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. She holds an MFA in Fiction from San Francisco State University, and her work has been performed, published and anthologized in various journals and publications including The Hill, Variant Lit, Entropy Magazine, Quiet Lightning, The Festival Review, and Qu Literary, and the Smart Set to name a few. Founder of WordSpaceStudios Literary Arts Center, and editor-in-chief of Chariot Press Journal, she is in the final stretch with her debut novel.
www.naomigoldner.com