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woman
by laura heitman
let me not forget
scarlet streams
that flood between my thighs,
muddy rivers
that tell me how brave i am
to make room and
be a home for
more than myself
let me not forget
to be kinder to my body
who bears blood clots
to be kinder to my body
who bears blood clots
as the tide changes
with each
with each
moon cycle
let me not forget
how to stop men
from bringing shame
upon this
faithful plethora
let me not forget
my mother’s words:
do not stray
into strangers’ bedsheets,
do not grace them with
your blood
let me not forget
that i am a woman,
a mother's first born
who carries swollen breasts
with the weight
of overripe tomatoes
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november (inspired by Louise Gluck’s “October”)
is it fall again, are the trees naked again,
will i ever stop loving autumn sunsets,
don’t we still find solace
in the beautiful silence
of the dark
that night, didn’t the waves
break against the shore,
wasn’t there moonlight
i remember being wrapped up
in the sky, heavy with stars,
didn’t your voice crack
wasn’t the sand cold
from the water’s touch,
its slow pulsing rhythm
lulling the beach to sleep
remember the candles
we lit on the water’s edge,
the fierce wind that blew them out
and took my breath with it
remember our begging bodies,
skin scrubbed raw and red with salt,
did my ocean pull you in,
did it scare you
that night under constellations
when i spilled like wine,
how did love enter,
hadn’t my winds just stripped
your branches bare
why did your touch feel like a tidal wave,
how did i drown in it
as you showed me warmth without a sound
that night, did you find the dark beautiful?
didn’t you heal me, didn’t your hands turn
a girl made of storms into a river?_________________________________________________
Mother Arizona
by Laura Heitman
My mother was birthed from Arizona;
eroded from emerald rivers and
everlasting canyons.
The sparse water of its deserts are
reflected back into
my eyes.
From cracked palms to her open hands,
I am her just as she
is me.
She is kept alive by memories of
limestone and nameless things.
She feeds me smokey fires and
thunder from her tongue when she is
tired but restless.
She is my lifeline.
The moment I eventually learn to be still and
breathe easy is when her topography overlaps with
my own.
When she empties her lungs of music,
I press my body close to hers and
make up my own melody
with her.
She fills terracotta bowls with flour and rhythms unheard
when the honey of near evening softens
the sky.
This is when desert scrub mingles with the
warmth in her voice.
This is when I love her
the most.
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Why I Am Not an Artist
by Laura Heitman
I am not an artist
but a lover.
The way he says
my name
is my favorite color.
I only ever think
of the way his lips curl
into a smile
when I promise
to never paint
in shades of blue again.
Blue is the color of apologies.
Blue for shame,
blue for
using him as my shelter.
For aching regret in my chest,
for fear he will leave.
But I still carry wild fits of hope.
I let him wander my mind
freely, touching things in
hopes I will paint the
sound of his voice
humming against my
skin.
He is shades of violet and
sunset orange stained on my hands,
but
I will never get my canvas to prove that
he is so much more
than a dying
sun.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Catching Light
by Laura Heitman
Love pours from his lips,
thick like honey.
I lend him my hips,
and we fall further into each other.
Out of the Earth,
he molds me.
Through the moon's light,
we live.
His eyes write
poetry across my body.
I want to tell him
that if he leaves his memory behind in
all that he touches then
my body is a memorial to him.
Just don’t say goodnight to
anyone else.
I want him to happen to me
over and over again.
Tell me that it’s okay to
be a landslide,
because everything I hear sounds like
something slipping away.
We can go down slowly.
I will be with him the next morning when
the curtains open,
and the sunlight is twisting in patterns
across his limbs.
Just take me in,
wrap me up when
night melts to morning again-
this is where the light is.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Untitled (inspired from october by louise gluck)
by Laura Heitman
Is it fall again, are the trees naked again,
when did i stop loving autumn sunsets,
what happened to finding solace in the
beautiful silence of
the dark
didn’t the waves break against the shore,
wasn’t there moonlight
I remember being wrapped up in
the sky, heavy with stars,
didn’t your voice crack
wasn’t the sand cold from
the water’s touch,
its slow pulsing rhythm
lulled the beach to sleep
what happened to the candles
we lit on the water’s edge,
the fierce wind that blew them out
and took my breath with it
remember our begging bodies,
skin scrubbed raw and red with
salt, did my ocean pull you in,
did it scare you
that night under constellations when
I spilled like wine, how did love enter,
why did it feel like a tidal wave,
didn’t I drown in your touch
warmth shown without a sound,
didn’t you heal me, hands that turned
a girl made of storms into a river,
that night, did you find the
dark beautiful?
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Moonlight
by Laura Heitman
I.
I want to be beautiful for him
the way I used to be.
Soft sound, gentle warmth.
Before I became a hurricane of panic;
fluttering chest, shallow breaths.
When I’m thoughts away from him,
apologies are lost in my breath.
He promises that somedays,
you just need a storm.
II.
There’s no words to describe how
the water runs down his naked shoulders,
or how the moon washes his skin in light;
remember that's how the sky gives us compliments.
I only lay myself bare with the sound
of our bodies echoing into the night.
III.
Gardens flourish where his lips press to flesh,
where his teeth graze bone.
I want to call him love in every language,
and pretend I am strong for him.
We lay in his sheets, the unseen color of our want
lingering in the air.
Maybe the way his body fills my empty spaces with warmth
is the reason why I want to heal.
IV.
It wasn't shapes I was drawing into his hand
as we sat and talked, it was my name.
Over and over, as if to always be a part of him.
Wrap me up when I start to shudder
above the soft earth, wide-eyed with
fear in my chest.
My cries will be a piece of him.
Kiss me to make sure I’m still here.
Wrap my starry nights around your waist
and take me with you wherever you go.
V.
Spill your light.
He saves sunsets in his hands to
color my darkest nights.
I can’t forgive myself for being a natural disaster,
he deserves more than a storm that won’t end.
I will never ask him to put me back together,
anxiety has left me undone.
But he looks beautiful standing in my rain,
beautiful in my night, searching for my buried warmth.
The warmth that he waits for,
as I am trapped in
moonlight.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Daddy” inspired by Sylvia Plath
by Laura Heitman
Daddy, Daddy,
you scrubbed me your hands have
raw and hardened under me;
red- clumsy truths caked
how I would like to under your fingertips.
believe in your I watched you swallow
tenderness. the sun once, I just
want to know where your
Daddy, I am light went.
diminished.
Your winds tear
at my voice.
Scorched and barren, Daddy,
stripped of your warmth; don’t forget to take care
I am cracked. of me.
Sun baked rock Remember what it feels
that cries out for water, like to wash your daughters
for your kindness. hair in the kitchen sink
How deep is your love? when the night swallows
You have her whole.
left me Let me show you what it
alone to means to feel.
dry. Don’t forget to take care of
me.
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A Letter to Myself (Essay)
by Laura Heitman
Don’t let the word “slut” drip from his tongue like it's sweet honey. Let him know how strong you are now; you make men weak against your lips. Swing your hips in slow circles, and for a moment let yourself believe you cannot be easily thrown away. If he says it again, remind him you never “lost” your “virginity.” You never lost anything, he only lost you.
Relax more, it’s important to be good to yourself. Bubble baths with candles and a book are never a bad idea, and it’s okay to cry in the bathtub once in awhile. Go to bed knowing you cannot think yourself into happiness, you have to arrive there first.
There is no solace in the planetarium of anxiety. You have leveled mountains with the force of your shaking hands, your voice will get lost in its winds. Be brave. We all tremble sometimes, but this is temporary. Stay away from coffee even on the mornings when you can’t rub the sleep from your eyes, it makes you shudder. The storm always passes, and the weight will lessen. Don’t try to claw your way out, he hates to see your swollen red skin.
One day you will grow familiar with your body. You have always been tangled in the question of what equates to pretty; stop carving yourself into something smaller. There’s something beautiful about a belly full of moon songs and clementines. Do not feel sick when he pulls your shirt over your head with the lights on this time, he just wants to love you in the light. Feeling ashamed of your body is not new to you, so keep the fire lit between your bones instead of making them delicate.
You must not be afraid to live. It’s okay to want to shrink every once in awhile, but you were meant to be a storm. You have known this all along, but have chosen to ignore it- don’t. There are going to be some days when you cannot keep it together, when you have lost yourself merely trying to get lost. Don’t be afraid to board that train to New York, or go to that concert by yourself. You have been frozen in this fear of dying that you are afraid to keep going. Eat that spoon of peanut butter, and sleep naked alone in your own bed. Drink soda for breakfast, and be reckless; it's okay to be stupid. Buy those sexy boots you’ve always wanted, and pay for your own drink this time. Now is the time for you to be loud, expand in the summer of your new confidence. This will take years to grow, as you are still a healing hymn. Don’t forget how a tree shakes their leaves when the air is cold, as if they are shedding skin from the old year. Shed your pretty, your cries and half-eaten clementines. Teach yourself to replace it with the warmth of survival, patience, understanding, poems, fighting- always living. Most importantly- sing your moon songs, and wear your pain likes trees wear their rings.
