ghosts and language by Lusichka

ghosts and language

lucy m.

russian ghost I met your ghost today, it wouldn’t look at me, but it would serve me hot tea in a small glass standing cold like Russian ice and when I thanked it it simply said ‘enjoy’ before walking away

picture ‘take a picture of me,’ my throat ached to say, or perhaps 'capture my soul' in a glass image; reversed forever. but hookah smoke in the shape of snakes, wrapped around our throats, and they hissed as your hands undressed my body in front of the cross that mirrored us; engraving our love into a ghost that would remain in that house forever

dedushka when you arrive to the small, Soviet apartment for the first time at five in the morning, eat all of the food he sets out onto the table for you the cabbages, the cheeses, and even the kielbasa. just this once. when he offers you champagne in the morning drink every last drop because it’s a celebration. the coffee will taste salty, but tell him it’s delicious listen to his stories, even when he repeats them laugh again about how the money he had forgotten inside of the piano turned into smut because you know he’ll never forget the melody of your voice sweep up the kitchen and organize the refrigerator the way your grandmother must have done it before she left it’s in your genes ask to see him in his army uniform, ask again keep asking again and again ask to see every picture in the house, and every broken watch he ever attempted to fix there are people who love you, but haven’t had the chance to hold you in their arms yet

mother bones there’s a mother sleeping in my bones who reminds me to blow out the candles before I go to sleep and while my limbs are short, they can wrap around just about any waist and I wish I had the answers to all of your tears, she says but she stands eerily still like a deer without direction she laughs when we shout in a room full of people as we shout louder and louder she holds us back whenever we try to reach for our lover not yet, she says. she lets us keep flowers until they die but she makes us let go of the hands of the girls who want to keep running I ask if I should look for her, if I should follow the sunlight to her glowing skin and laughter the way she holds a loud smile in the midst of my echoing silence -‐-‐ not yet, she says.

dream girl Can I hold her in my arms? Paint her soft red lips a different color– a pastel color, maybe like the trail the quiet sun leaves behind after exiting at the same time everyday

the cloud and the rain she’s sweet and soft, and everything I ever wanted but she’s a fleeting cloud, and I am the rain

colors Can we describe colors without having to say the name? She let me taste her lips before she ran away to catch the train sometimes I forget to lick envelopes faster to let her know I still think about that day when I could smell the rain, but she couldn’t feel its drops; it sounded like drums, but it kissed like we did shy, and fleeting I traced constellations into the sky, even though the stars hid behind the fog I wanted to describe the feeling without words or touch this transparent connection, I’ll remember you forever

english I’ve stopped speaking English to my mother: my tongue would harden and corner her into the steering wheel, even the silence felt sharp I wash the dishes to practice being as soft as the soap that lathers between my fingers there’s a way to hold children that makes it look like your hips were meant for this there’s enough space inside to hold anger and sadness -‐-‐ your ribs will make room, trust me. when my voice erupts it echoes thunder bolts so I prefer to keep it soft yet coarse like the dirt beds underneath my toes sheltering the bugs and worms and keeping the secrets of rain drops

sweet russian I have chocolate for you “That sounds tempting…” you say before you write another excuse I have kisses for you and my fingers attempt to intertwine with yours but you keep your palm on top of my hand I try to brush all of this sugar off of my body I want to throw it all away Why don’t you just add it to your tea? you ask me I must have forgotten how communism works sweet nervous lips my hands shake because love hurts my wrists but I blame it on the caffeine do Russian families say “I love you”? I’m smiling but all you see are broken shards of glass lying beside all of this sugar “That sounds tempting…” you say before you realize that my sweetness only knows how tear and slice skin away

youth dew stained rose petals waiting to be plucked by itching fingers; round grapes hanging by dwindling vine threads, seduced by eager mouths but this age old wine, they knew about the room spinning long before I did I wish I didn’t hesitate to hold hands whenever it felt like the sky would fall into the ocean One day I’ll be the flavor that somebody has been hoping to taste and they’ll raise their glass with fantasy purple stained lips they’ll feel the room spin long before anyone else did

blemish it’s less expensive to keep the blemish there, if you learn to love it, it will disappear because all the things we love, leave once we hand over our hearts we confused the shadowed clouds during a sunset as distant mountains once we let our excitement show, they vanished like a huff of smoke

blue haired lullaby At the party I’m drinking whiskey and wine I wonder what it’s like to be a blue-‐haired lullaby she doesn’t say a word we don’t know her name, we just know the color of her hair and that she hides behind his pant legs I imagine her art work to be made of fine lines; she must be good at capturing the pain in eyes

happy pain Happy pain: this bitter sweet butter scotch candy sticks to our gums. We have to massage our throats to practice screaming to scream all of our nightmares away. our mouths are full of cavities and our gums are swollen from all of this happy pain Someday we’ll share an entire bottle of wine, but only when our faces are glowing and we’re both in love with each other at the same time. we can lie on the floor and hold each other’s heads because the room won’t actually be spinning we’ll just be full of happy pain

switzerland what does it feel like? my soul, what did it feel like?

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