poem challenge: 3 years of love & summer

i started marking dates to my writing when i moved to Canada, and having been here over 2 years now i have the capacity to put poetry i've written around this time of year side by side.

the first one: 10 August 2009

it occurs to me

i could just stay here

i could fall in love with

someone who wants me in whistler

someone who offers no boundaries

someone who makes "restrictions" a laughable concept

it just now occurs to me
that feeling stifled

is not on my prerequisites list

but i might be drunken

on eye contact.
if i love

the things that you love

will you love me?

it occurs to me

that i am already unfaithful

i am in love with pitchers of beer

and mountains

i think longingly of them, when

i should think of you.

the second one: August 16, 2010

you can mix these scenes in, you can change the order. be sure that between them were glasses of wine, silent nights on a balmy balcony, stolen cigarettes.

be sure and certain that it didn't happen like this.

on my bus winding whister-way, the dark of winter early morning seeping away. i'm coming home. home that way that it's where my snowboard is. where my guitar is. there's a boy there i like.

she spent three weeks, almost, in the states, with her aunt who gave her books to read and let her choose icecream flavors. she got drunk and hit on her cousin's best friend's brother, black-out drunk so she doesn't know how she got home. crazy laughter. forgot to tip at the bar, awkward.

the bus is full of sleepy Vancouverans making their way up for the snow. my prayers have been answered. it's looking to be bluebird. a snowless day, but no powder is ok.

there was another bus ride, 8 months earlier, that brought her to town.

(i'm really fucking angry, i can't concentrate on this bullshit).

the third one: August 5, 2011

summer poetry:

a lazy word and a lost vocabulary

i think a lot less than i used to think

i care in a less specific way, and just

aim for bliss

sparkly pink fingernails and a towel on the

green grass and oh, the lake

i wait for the boy i like to finish his workday

i revel in the simplicity

i revel in my simple summer poetry

i'm hopeless as a romantic

(sometimes i forget to care about others)

i'm nowhere near perfect

(all kinds of thing and parts don't work)

i lay quietly and pretend not to be Australian

(this is a very simple confession)

i confess, motherfuckers, i am one happy camper

and grasping for

happy summer poetry

is a stretch, when

all i want is to tan and look into the eyes

of the boy i like.