Diary Entries

Taneum Bambrick           

Out a tall window
one drift boat turns toward the lake.

I love you
if I don’t think about
who you were before me.

When I worry you are angry
I am angry.

You aren’t thinking about me.

Someone’s favorite music
in the car. We watch Dallas
through a bent railing.

In a parking lot

head-sized rocks thrown
to the weeds.

The paddle of a prickly pear
snapped down the center.

White like Styrofoam
leaking whiskey

I receive a message where B claims

you aren’t a real artist
because you don’t write every day.

He was the first man I slept with.
When I pushed him off, he came beside me.

The stem of an indoor plant
thicker where it bent
across the ceiling.

Because I asked, A once admitted
that I was not the most attractive person
she had been with.
She had better sex with someone else.

I cried in the bathroom at the coffee shop where I worked
until I realized honesty was something I’d never felt.

You push your palm against my face in bed.
I imagine this is you asking for space.

I am trying to warm up your nose, you say.

We laugh so hard
but I have shown you something.

Originally published in Moss: Volume Five.
moss logo