Sunday Poems 30: "Go home, Triple X."

You’ll notice a change to the naming structure above. Roman numerals start to get out of control eventually, and more vitally, I didn’t want to live up to the pressure of writing an instalment worthy of being called ‘Sunday Poems: XXX’. I could never do justice to Vin Deisel’s reach for the James Bond mantle. (Though maybe that essay would be a good Patreon stretch goal). I’m also giving each instalment a title, which gives a little more personality than a date and number. Also I hope that the removal of the date will inspire me to write about the weather with a slightly milder frequency. As always, feedback on these changes is welcome.

Some more indulgences: I’ve been doing this since September. It seems so long ago. There are few things more satisfying than finding a good thing and sticking to it. Those objects of affection are relatively rare, and the opportunity to commit is often even more fleeting. But things lined up. I missed a few instalments in the early months, but I’ve been consistently putting one out in the last few months. I think they’ve been getting better. Behind the scenes, it’s certainly less messy. It’s still one of the highlights of my week. Thanks for being here. A huge thank you as well to my supporters on Patreon. It’s been hugely motivating to have people care so much.

Sundays are nice days on which to celebrate, but also nice days on which to cry. Sometimes we do both in the course of a day. Sometimes we do both at the same time. This usually happens when we’re feeling particularly elated. I hope this is one of those days for you. Below is a poem, it’s yours now. Do with it what you will. I’m here if you need to talk. Have a great week everybody.

slip between

it’s a morning
and i’m the only one with my shirt off
in this house
the chest on fire
the feet on the floor
unwashed and sentimental.

from the stains new shoes leave on the sides of feet
after the rain,
a well down the gutter.

free yourself from what you are:
i wanna drink into your stomach
i wanna drink you
i want to take a day off to get the work done
i want to go on a long walk with you.

some days i’m on top of the world
some days i’m in tears
some days i’m on a cliff
some days i’m crying
some days you’re with me
some days we’re in tears
some days i’m wrapped around you
a car around a pole.

there’s a tightness to your smile:
you are perfect sometimes and other times.

a jigsaw instead of a cactus.

eyes like i love you
until glass shattered
until water spills
until the finish is ruined on the table.

and some other time
walking up the castle walls sideways,
hanging out into the sky
eyes like a catapult of sight.

eyes like stars in the sky.

and for a moment
it’s clear and glassy.

Originally published May 1, 2016.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
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