A large rabbit street side
Like a semicolon on paper,
She - with her ears and her
Small steps, reminds me of
Me without clothes on me.
Lanugo and still warm from
All the mean things I said.
Stockholm 22/11/25
Big mid-February snowstorm in Stockholm
And yet beyond reason I know spring is near,
Reading lots of Nabokov and lots of Neruda
Which is how I know the season is coming.
I need no clocks and no calendars,
All I need to do is look at my bookshelf
And there it is my window.
Stockholm 21/2/26
I am a video of myself —
Like a mountain captured by a camcorder,
Like a saved voicemail, like a grain of salt.
Staring into the window I remember sitting on a bench
Six months ago with a black floral knee length skirt.
I make too many lists and I love making a mistake.
I always forget and then I always remember.
Stockholm 1/3/26
Mokapot dear, I bought one for me and one I left to my mother.
Today I will drink my coffee black with one tablespoon of honey.
I imagine placenta as this yellow almost green cold lake of milk —
The womb full of it and as vast as the Atlantic ocean.
She was born in Rabat, my mother. Like a blues song.
She loves driving her black Audi. She divorced in 2010.
She has eczema on her hands. Obsession Night by Calvin Klein.
Maybe I will have a pear too. Pear. Päron. Birne. Poire. Pera.
I think of my mother every morning when I look into the
Mirror and when waiting for my stovetop espresso to sing.
Only a minute, but every day. Tomorrow again.
Stockholm 2/3/26
I stand in front of my bedroom window, and I imagine a hand as big as a house
Rest its palm right on the grass over there near my bike. The trees sway in silence.
Stockholm 2/3/26
My first boyfriend was a chess player.
I wish my next to be a saxophone player or a postman.
Stockholm 2/3/26