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[inspiration-apparent]

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Delia Saastamoinen, July ‘20

Fire at the moon

and freckle her more.

Her skin is cluttered

with the markings of

hands and lovers

and death threats.

She’ll still smile at you, dear

and put your shadow

just behind you,

give you someone familiar

to walk with

through the night.

[inspiration-apparent]

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Delia Saastamoinen, July ‘20

Cry for me your

angel tears,

and shed them down my spine.

Hold yourself tighter

than you ever have

and brace for impact.

I pray to you,

your iron grip,

and the mercury on your cheeks.

We survive on

hues and screams

and whisper our secrets far away.

Who are we to keep a fire burning

in a house we’ve never left?

The mouse under the porch

sucks his teeth and

stares you down.

[inspiration-apparent]

Not Sure

Delia Saastamoinen, June ‘20

In a stupor,

let’s begin our trial.

A calling out

and a falling back

into something we missed

or maybe something that was

our fault in the first place.

[inspiration-apparent]

Heave

Delia Saastamoinen, May ‘20

A fist on the wall

spreading pink in the light.

It is ink in the water.

The meddlesome taste

of insulation and dust.

I made it too loose

on accident

and maybe i can’t fix it.

Change your tires

and mourn the air inside them.

Some of it may remain

when you crack open

your sternum

for your lover to scorn.

An open wound on top of another

and the light in his eyes

steps back.

[inspiration-apparent]

Advice

Delia Saastamoinen, May ‘20

Speak in accents

within your head

and become someone different

for a few sentences.

Swallow your pills

without enough water

and feel the pressure

sit in the back of your throat.

Run your nails across the sky

and feel the flakes fall off

and doze into your palm.

Brush your teeth.

Smell the salty gore

of the fishing docks

and wonder about bones.

Ask questions about death

and how to hide a body.

Tell them you’re a writer.

Pay in cash.

Bury yourself in a coat

and an idol’s boots.

Look down the sharpest blades

and follow where it points.

Do you trust yourself?

[inspiration-apparent]

Thoughts in a Meadow

Delia Saastamoinen, May ‘20

Why don’t we stay here

a little while longer?

We’ll rest our weary soles

and let the ants explore us.

If we’re still

and beautiful

a bee will land on our fingertips.

A golden breath

waves our shadows ahead of us.

We dig our toes in the dirt

and recall stories

we read as children

for each other’s loving ears.

[inspiration-apparent]

Disc Jockey II

Delia Saastamoinen, May ‘20

Lips on lips

in a summer’s midnight

and I miss your hands

around my waist.

Where have you been

all this time?

Sitting in cobwebs

under crooked skies?

Trailing your beauty

through the underbrush

as your bare feet

leave me breadcrumbs?

Take me with you,

I beg, as you smile

and hold my cheek.

Not yet, you whisper.

You kiss my bloody knuckles

with a soft passion,

apologetic,

and twist your hand

in my hair.

[inspiration-apparent]

Timbre

Delia Saastamoinen, May ‘20

Sit down and

think

softly.

You've been

so loud.

Be soft.

Be gentle.

The breeze

loves you

and the roughness

of your words.

Let her hold you

for a moment

as you

sit down and

think

softly.

[inspiration-apparent]

Unknown Number

Delia Saastamoinen, May ‘20

Hold my hand, darling,

and walk with me awhile.

Would you be so kind

as to humor my sickly self?

My prayers are overcome

with your poetic eyes

and proud nature

as I whisper for fortune

in the warmth of your skin.

Let me take you

to the grazing deer

in pockets of moonshine.

Hold my hands, darling,

and walk with me awhile.

I promise to catch you

in this game of trust.

We beg to breathe

and claw at the dust

that fills our bellies with

aching sweetness.

It’s so cold, my love,

and the gashes down my face

bleed fresh in the moments

I forgot.

[inspiration-apparent]

Oracular

Delia Saastamoinen, April ‘20

A woman boasting rubies

nestled on her throat

sleeps in the dust-choked air.

She is beautiful

and she doesn’t stir

when you enter.

Follow the path

of mismatched prints

that walk to the

beat of the moon.

The clouds weep

diamonds above you.

Her confidante is waiting

with gems of his own

adorning his coat

and a smell of rust

that lingers

on his breath.

“For what?” you ask.

Pearl earrings swing

from his eyes.

Sapphires hug his lips.

“This world is a decadence

to which many succumb.”

[inspiration-apparent]

Inspiration Apparent

Delia Saastamoinen, April ‘20

I’ve trained you

to rock and whine and

call for ghosts.

Your memories ring false

and you can no longer

trust yourself.

I cackle in my cave

as I watch your

cold clay figure

pace the floor

and cry for answers

you don’t know the questions for.

Run from me and my

wicked hands.

I’ll watch as you

come crawling back,

like I know you will,

because my cruelty

is the only thing you can count on.

Paint a picture of my face

and hook my nose

and scratch my cheeks

and tell the children

to fear the devil

that lurks in their closets

because she’ll melt you too.

[inspiration-apparent]

Untitled

Delia Saastamoinen, April ‘20

I just want to run away

and start over

and meet new people

and cry new tears

and pick new flowers in the spring.

[inspiration-apparent]

Quarantine

Delia Saastamoinen, March ‘20

A spiderweb in the crook of my elbow.

I haven’t moved in a while

I suppose.

Maybe the world is new

outside of this chair

with a wobbly leg.

[inspiration-apparent]

The Sun Will Never Know Your Eye Color

Delia Saastamoinen, March ‘20

Come here, my child,

and let the moon paint you.

In her eyes you are beautiful.

She’s watched you breathe

and seen the clouds leave your lungs.

She’s held your hands

and felt the pulse of your blood.

She loves that it’s yours.

Breathe into her chest, darling,

press your skin to hers.

She’ll whisper to her god

and you’ll wonder if it’s you.

You’re close.

[inspiration-apparent]

Ward

Delia Saastamoinen, March ‘20

Watch me glow like a sin

under a blacklight.

Am I who you thought I was?

I’ll scald myself

to be enough for you

and your water is too cold.

How can you ask for my faults

and then run from them

when I’m honest?

Which of us

does honesty lack from?

Is it from me

who tried to understand?

Or is it from you

who told me it would work

who told me it would be better

who told me

I was worth it.

Swallow the spit I give you,

my blood is not worth your time.

[inspiration-apparent]

Notes

Delia Saastamoinen, March ‘20

Push off with your toes

for a clean break

on a shattered leg,

and remember

that a cast can only do

so much

Call your doctor,

I’m sure she misses you,

but don’t leave your father

out of the mix.

In a fair world

we all share the blame.

Trust that your skin

will hold against the tide.

You grew it for a purpose,

now define what that is

as you crack a spine

and smell the ink.

[inspiration-apparent]

Squelch

Delia Saastamoinen, February ‘20

What if when we grow old

we rotted the way fruit does?

What if, as we crinkle in on ourselves,

we earn soft spots

where the mold has eaten us away?

We are plucked from our trees so young,

but we are ripe for so long.

What if when we rot

someone larger and grander

who can fit us in their hand

smiles as they throw us to the woods.

We hit trees and gain triumphant cheers.

We befriend the leaves

and we rot together.

What if when we grow old

we grew new life?

What if, as we crease and hunch,

we grow down and down

until we are rooted in place?

And we can be tall again

and beautiful.