So, between setting up my classroom and freaking out at my roster, I got off-track with Week of Poetry. I'm going to try to do the last couple of poems this week. Meanwhile, have a belated Day 5 (though I'm not entirely happy with it):
when he asks you to stay
when he asks you to stay,
you say ATTTCGCGCGA,
& count how DNA turns into RNA turns into proteins,
turns into your reasons for leaving;
you say that this continent makes you strange,
& familiarity is an addiction
you were never good at -
(you sleep on floors with satin sheets while your calluses grow soft,
& you lie & you lie & you lie)
there's lines on his face
like cracks in the ocean floor,
when he asks you to stay.
This entry is crossposted at
http://ekaterinn.dreamwidth.org/159713.html.