Kristen Orser

We Don't Fall in Love with Anything but Candied Apples

I am thinking particles            

                        as small as dust  .  I am thinking

                                                                                    particulars:  door

                                                                                    and window  .  Can we imagine          a way out?  I am thinking

before and after  .  Before        sky was called bluesky  .  What was

                                                                                                the first                        echo?  Why

are we always repeating          door  .  Open   the door  . 

                                                                                                We're fucked  .  I hope

I can finish a sentence             before you say goodbye  .  Remember—

or how easy                 it was to seek  .                                                            Hello? 

There are five thousand feelings I'm trying to communicate  .  One

                                                            thing I'd like to say is that I remember

the name of that song we'd been trying to remember:              “Hey Joni”

                        I try and locate

the five thousand emotions I am trying to communicate

                                                                        by remembering this,

but everything is in a pathetic organ the color of salmon  .  I can't really

                                                                                                                                    touch

my heart  .  I'm reminded

                                                of how difficult it is to find my own pulse  .  I hope

when I'm dead somebody pokes a finger in my heart

                                                                                    so the heart knows

it isn't an atom bomb               or a disaster;                                        something

                                    like an open eye  . 

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