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.

The Wedding Story

I hate weddings. 

Sometimes I fall asleep in the back row with my legs awkwardly tucked beneath me and my head on a stranger’s shoulder. But the ones that make me cry are the worst. It always starts small, just a little sniffle, maybe a tear or two. It ends worse. 

I have a fear of weddings. I don’t even really know why. Maybe there is a name for that. Elophobia. Derivative of the word elope. No just kidding I just made that up. 

Every time I get anywhere close to marriage I will find any number of reasons to ditch the guy. He’s too tall, he’s too short, he’s too young, he’s too old, I don’t like his shampoo. But I do like HIM and that’s what’s supposed to count. It always ends with me breaking his heart and leaving the key under the mat for him to collect his belongings from my place while I’m out. 

I hope it doesn’t always end like that. 

---

She says she hates weddings. 

I proposed to her after 2 years of dating. 2 of the best years of my life. We were out to dinner and afterwards we walked along the river and took turns pointing out our favourite places in the city. After awhile we got tired of our little game and instead just walked along silently, arms held limply by our sides, hearts thudding in our chests. Chances are mine was louder. I stopped walking and it took her a minute or two to notice and when she did she spun around then cocked her head to one side like a puppy. The right corner of her mouth turned upwards in a crooked smile and she said to me in that voice of hers “why’d you stop, watcha doing?” And I said I’m fixing my shoelaces they came untied. So I knelt down, making a big display of it, and fiddled for a moment with my shoelace, then when she wasn’t looking I pulled the box out of my pocket. She looked back at me and smiled until she noticed what was in my hands and stopped. “Will you marry me?” I said. She said nothing. That was when I noticed she was crying and I didn’t know what to do. “Why are you crying?” She said nothing. She turned and walked the other way, away from the river, away from the box with the ring, and away from me. 

That night I cried. I called my mum and asked “what’s the matter with me?” She said “you are perfect to me”. But that’s not good enough. 

One day she will wake up and realize what she lost. 

---

He was good. He was too good. One day I will wake up and realize what I lost.