Impossible romances, I tell myself they only happen when I’m reading; I see a plum, pink and feral, consumed by mistletoe, and I start to feel a little differently. The blossoming is stifled by those stubborn green puffball parasites— what I thought to be spring is merely another awakening. When we choose, it is often forgetting. One wrong surpasses another, imposes itself in the lining of the mind like the crow that lands on the plum tree—to start my morning with you is one of these choices. Impossible romances, I remind myself, are based on someone’s ontology; someone’s phoradendron heart blooming into another’s plum.
Thank you for reading the ninth installment of my poetry series. Since my recent move to Portland, I’ve been adjusting to being in a new environment, and I haven’t had a lot of time to dedicate to my editing process. I struggle with bursts of creativity, productive days that leave me exhausted and kill my motivation for at least a week. I’m trying to incorporate my writing more into my daily practice by making it a part of my to-do list. It ends up looking sort of like this:
resume
put away laundry
edit poems/substack post
library job apps
style poetry bookcase
PUT AWAY LAUNDRY!
list items on marketplace
organize jewelry box
smog check/DMV
dinner???
“to start my morning with you is one of these choices” ❤️
i keep re-reading this one, lillian. the plum, the crow, the lining of the mind... beautiful <3