Lauren Ireland

January 3 2005 Philadelphia

Sweet frozen lake    breaking into    thousands
of beautiful sounds.      Snow.      Your mother
breaks    a jar of maraschino cherries    in the yard.
It's not safe    to be loved here.      The morning
blows open    the bars    let out.      When you are drunk
you are real    really really real    frantic yellow light
on blue blue snow.      When I am drunk    I am afraid.
Sometimes there is blood    that's how you know    it was good.

March 28 1981 Queens

Nobody knows    what they are about to become.
I wash my hands on a wet white camellia.
The clean tired feeling    coming home after the beach.
Walking crosstown on streets    wet with imaginary neon.
The not-sound of snow    just before it falls    scent of cold.
I love you so much    you haven't happened yet    I push time
aside to find you    in the body's woozy memory    your baby
eyes fastened    on nothing    how nothing is really everything
and one day    you will lift a rock in the water    and show me
anemones closing    like fists    sea stars    agile with fear.
I know    I will make myself small    to love you less    frantically.
O what if    you're ever    unborn?      I close my eyes    and but
I know you    will make me    open them    underwater.

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