Untitled.

You, 

what are you smiling about?

it couldn’t possibly be me. 

I am held in your gaze

(I wish it was your arms)

How can you: light hair, 

dark eyes and me: the

opposite, have anything 

in common? I wish.

Wishing is like walking

and it only gets me so

far, so far it has gotten                         

me to nowhere and back

again, back to where I 

started, and where I started

is still lacking, funny how

you’re still missing.

Missing like a picture frame, 

empty.

Missing like a thousand words              

missing from a book, 

Missing from here and now

with you and I 

Missing,                               

Instead you are on a separate

page in a different story

with another lover,

Instead you are with 

her. 

People-watching

She’s walking 

through 

rivers 

to get to someplace, 

unimaginable. But 

I know better than 

to think it’s 

better than here. 

She’s watching

the water droplets

cling to surfaces with

great intention,

I see her across the 

street with her rubber 

boots and her poncho

and she’s checking her

watch and she’s waiting

for someone and each

time they never show. 

I like to imagine who she waits for.  

Maybe it’s a guy. No, more 

likely it is a relative, her aunt, 

her cousin, coming to take her

far away from here and this 

and taking her to there, 

where ever that is. 

Every time I see a sigh

I see a flicker of something,

maybe it’s disappointment, 

or regret, maybe it’s relief

and she shivers in the cold 

and she gives up, turns 

around and heads

towards

home.

Journey

One day i will travel to

               all the far off places 

in the world and 

maybe i will hide 

in all the distant 

corners of the earth and 

no one will find me cause 

no one can find me 

except 

         for the stars and the moon 

which follow me where ever i go, 

from far away to 

right back home.

lost

Lost

The room is so 

very full. 

Full of possibility

And personality

But I stand at

the front and I

can feel the

eyes on me, small. 

I feel small.

My words are 

empty. 

Not like theirs. 

Jealousy is 

never...

never mind.

I’d love to pry 

open those minds

and read them

like files. 

Maybe they can hear 

my teeth chattering. 

Maybe they are

lost.

A little like me.

Maybe?

Fame

Many saw her 

As a symbol

Rather than the

Incredibly talented

Lady that she was,

Yes she was beautiful,

No she didn’t know it.  

Maybe the problems

Of her childhood were

Never resolved but 

Really who can blame

One for hating the fame

Even thought it seems grand.

The Long List of Things I Have Lost

Whenever I think of my sister

I think of that god damn fight 

we had when I swore at her, 

and it was the first time I had 

ever done that, ever said a 

curse word to someone, let

alone to my big sister. 

The look on her face alone, 

it was enough to twist the 

organs in my body into ribbons

“Shut the fuck up.”

My mind took a picture, 

SNAP. 

and the image has stayed, 

relentless in my mind.

I told her I was sorry but

I knew it didn’t matter what

I said, she would forgive me. 

She always forgave me. 

Three years later and she

is still as gone as always,

only now the pain is a dull,

weak throbbing at the base

of my neck instead of sharp

pins and needles, and her

laughter is distant, if only it

were just a little bit closer,

and she is still as gone as

always, only now I have

a memory, I’m holding it

tightly against my heart,

holding it tightly in my

hands in case it slips right

through my fingers, holding 

it tightly in case I lose it 

just like I lost her. 

I don’t want the memory

to be just another thing on the

Long List of Things I Have Lost. 

Homesick

I miss the place of

rye bread and saunas

the place of cross- 

country skiing, 

Joulupukki and

rice pudding at 

Christmastime, 

home of a thousand 

lakes, birch trees proud

by their sides, and

what about the

people? with sisu 

and independence

their silence conveys

more than the meaning-

less words of those

who talk simply to 

hear their own voice

This is the place of

creators: marimekko

and pulla and love, 

Deep inside of me I 

feel a pull towards the 

place whose heritage 

runs in my veins. It is

true, maybe I have 

never been there, but

Finland is the place

I long for the most, the 

one place I miss as if

it were my home.