LOCKS OPEN KEYS

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even As I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay –

Julia Trotti

1.
she kept the christmas tree
up well past march and its a
strange thing,

your voice
broken and sad
and

the words, no one understood.
but the silence.

oh, the


silence.

2.
and i hum in this
empty house and

your call


echoes and
echoes. the phone
keeps ringing and i
say. i say:

sorry.

and you say:

don’t. just —



don’t.

3.
but here i am and
there. there you are.

your face as delicate
as your tears today. and
i touch you as if

you’re a paper boat,
about to float away. and i

tiptoe

around your thoughts,
afraid i’ll wake

you up.

4.
my clothes smell like
you. my skin

smells like you. and
there is a dead tiger
in my bed. we’re

caught between

an electrical storm
exploding in the sky and

silence.

5.
i don’t think i’ve
ever loved you more.