artistic license
3 am, wide awake
& I want to write about the hurt
but there is nothing new to say.
I only have arms for this aching.
same airsick chest, burned-out eyes,
same free-fall sick stomach,
& so instead
I draw a memory.
sketch the outline gently,
grip the pen too tight.
skip the blacks & greys.
use every color.
it’s us at sunset, see?
wool blanket underneath,
kaleidoscope sky melting above.
add s'mores, damp socks & inside jokes,
the hot chocolate that I made too sweet.
we watch for clouds in the distance—
it better not rain, you say.
we’re not prepared for a storm.
heartache is there, curled up by the fire,
already at home by my side.
in one quiet moment,
as the cicadas sing around us,
it reaches over to squeeze my hand.
rattle on home
she told the crowd to raise our hands
if we’d ever been in love, and I thought
about riding the bus. warning signs.
for your safety, please hold on.
please reach for a kind word, familiar melody,
a friend across a crowded room—
my hand, hold onto that.
have you ever been in love?
here's what it feels like: being woken up
before your stop, or reminded to watch your step,
see these hands? someone read them for me once.
said my life line and my love line are the same
said you will understand one day, and now I do,
here are my hands, my shoulder for sleeping,
my arm for balance,
have you ever been in love?
I don't know if I have, but I am holding on.
for safety, you know?
I am reaching over you, pulling the cord
while you dream a little longer.
no need to raise your hand, say thank you,
say anything at all.
we can sit in this quiet
and name it whatever you want.
Natalie Lim is a
Chinese-Canadian writer based in Vancouver, B.C. and the winner of the 2018 CBC
Poetry Prize, with additional work published or forthcoming in Room Magazine, Honey & Lime Lit and PRISM
international. She is a soon-to-be graduate of Simon Fraser University, an
unashamed nerd, and a believer in good bones. You can find her on Twitter
@nataliemlim.
3 am, wide awake
& I want to write about the hurt
but there is nothing new to say.
I only have arms for this aching.
same airsick chest, burned-out eyes,
same free-fall sick stomach,
& so instead
I draw a memory.
sketch the outline gently,
grip the pen too tight.
skip the blacks & greys.
use every color.
it’s us at sunset, see?
wool blanket underneath,
kaleidoscope sky melting above.
add s'mores, damp socks & inside jokes,
the hot chocolate that I made too sweet.
we watch for clouds in the distance—
it better not rain, you say.
we’re not prepared for a storm.
heartache is there, curled up by the fire,
already at home by my side.
in one quiet moment,
as the cicadas sing around us,
it reaches over to squeeze my hand.
rattle on home
she told the crowd to raise our hands
if we’d ever been in love, and I thought
about riding the bus. warning signs.
for your safety, please hold on.
please reach for a kind word, familiar melody,
a friend across a crowded room—
my hand, hold onto that.
have you ever been in love?
here's what it feels like: being woken up
before your stop, or reminded to watch your step,
see these hands? someone read them for me once.
said my life line and my love line are the same
said you will understand one day, and now I do,
here are my hands, my shoulder for sleeping,
my arm for balance,
have you ever been in love?
I don't know if I have, but I am holding on.
for safety, you know?
I am reaching over you, pulling the cord
while you dream a little longer.
no need to raise your hand, say thank you,
say anything at all.
we can sit in this quiet
and name it whatever you want.
