I miss it a little, the bullets we shot through books.
Now it’s all about shipwrecks and you’ll not feel the drowning.
deer huckleberry,
maybe its just the growing wrinkles in our brow. maybe it is the new honeysuckle growing outside of our window shutting closed the windows. maybe it is big eyes and a quiet stare, but whatever it is you and i are closing a door and sticking it closed with the last of our honey. i remember when we were a pair of pears, faces smeared with each others bubblegum kisses. now the birds are making arrows and flying home, and love is dropping like bombs, and this time, my deer, i don’t know that i can crawl back. i wanna pour firecrackers out of my eyes onto the rooftop so that an explosion can lead you back to me, but i know that is just silly. dreams pass, and waking is sad. know that my deer eyes have loved you more than love should expand, and i can only hope every moment was real. one just can’t love alone, cause that is what causes thunderstorms and gingerbread houses to collapse. so this is where i end, for a while. though your words haven’t graced our walls in sometime now, ill explore the forest and leave candy kisses as a trail to where ill lead, but eventually the markings with disappear and so will my dotted back and smile. i believe that we are after the same rainbows end, my huckleberry friend. i have loved you. i will love you. there are no more words.
goodnight huckleberry,
bambi
deer huckleberry,
i feel as though there is a hole in my chest. my sticky honey fingers are morphing into blackberries and they are smearing everything around me. i have lost my love with the chocolate locks, and a part of me is missing. what sweet tears you could see if you would only look into the back of the green and blue and black. i keep packing my suitcase with string and sweet things in hopes that maybe one day the both of us will disappear together. maybe you can take away the hole huckleberry. maybe you can mask it for me. i need you here with me to hold my golden locks and smear my face with strawberry kisses. and at night, we both go tearing through the streets like children in search of a hunter’s moon, local adventures and secrets. I love to taste the rain with you and feel the cold breeze against my skin, buried somewhere underneath the wool of my pale green cardigan and years of only seeing this moment when I closed my eyes. The pavements are liquid gold in this littlebig old town. Rain beats down, down, down. Tears rain down, down down. I love you my dear huckleberry and im sorry i seem to have lost my words lately.
yours forever and ever and ever
bambi
“And you musn’t be sad when she disappears, you wouldn’t come home either if your house were made of honey. A black-treacle building. I told you so.”
dear bambi,
it’s been some time since i last wrote. i’ve been hiding under blankets, away from the cold. somedays i peak out and see your hoof prints in the snow and i’m so happy you’ve been by.
i lost my bag of words somewhere so i am going to borrow some.
Enjoy. I love you.
Huckleberry
You’re like
a little fruit
you’re like
a moon i want
to hold
i said lemon slope
about your
hip
because it’s one
of my words
about you
i whispered
in bed
this smoothing
the fruit &
then alone
with my book
but writing
in it the pages
wagging
against all knuckles
in the
light like a
sail.
Two animals, bears
Her foot licking
mine
(Eileen Myles)
oh huckleberry,
we are miles apart, me swimming knee deep in shrimp water where the sun’s too bright while you are in the mountains blowing heart smoke rings holdin hands with your papa. and now i’m waking up every morning and not thinking about how bad things have been because we’re having marmalade mondays and treacle tart tuesdays, and we haven’t got time to be unhappy. i don’t know if i told you but i adore sorrows, and laundry, and her gingerbread-houses. and i adore sitting on the front porch, watching the day fade into night, and back into day again.and i adore the song we listen to about the bearded barley, the milky twilight, the moonlit floor, the broken tree-house and the dancing fireflies. i do, i do. i really do.and i don’t mind if i only have a handful of people who care about me, because they love me, and they hold me, and they sigh in the morning time, and i feel good things because of them. i just hope they feel good things too, because after all, i’m only a girl with ice-cream and jelly lungs and i forget about gravity and i’m ready and waiting with my mittens for mr. jack frost but i won’t stop doing the noodle dance or shooting the moon with papa’s chimney smoke, and ill never stop missing you when you’re away.
i hope you remember to leave the milk out for santa and the reindeer. if we were home together we would lap the milk up together beneath our broken christmas trees. i hope santa makes the new year come faster cause without you i don’t have the shine in my hair.
i love you huckleberry.
your honey-combed haired,
bambi
.
This is what is because without our whiskey bellies and empty bedrooms our toes would still remain cold every night and we would freeze, no longer existing as the down south sugar canes that kiss you with their whiskers and whom you love. Before this room became everything it was meant to be, there was silence in the wood chips and full wine glasses waiting to be spilled, and they are separate because we don’t spill anymore and you can’t find an ounce of silence unless you press your ear into every feather pillow and there aren’t any left. We were led to this place by skippin’ rocks along the Mississippi river, one clad with crawfish and crocodile teeth from a secret underwater bayou and the other with a stick and cloth on her shoulder full of pine trees and secret lines on her hand covered in bbq sauce. Memories are made into something more when you can smoke, snort, kiss, stuff, swallow, and jam everything possible into yourself and you still cannot forget that humid night spent admiring your kitchen refrigerator, your home. It took nothing to get me here; I was already broken, but when I am ready to escape it will be silently without anything I came with, in the middle of the daytime in a sunshine rain, and I will not look back. That I can guarantee. This here is a plateau, the baby making of all possibilities. I cannot see a path because I am walking with my eyes closed shut. I will name it something I will never say aloud and the names that circle this name are too afraid to raise there hands and say “PRESENT” so their names too will remain silenced. I keep my secrets in little boxes hidden inside all of my mattresses tied with big yellow bows. And they are secrets because my bed is a door that leads to another that leads to the land I entered the world in. They are secrets because I said so. What separates me from this place is a nod, a smile, a yes mam/no mam please thank you fuck off.
tell me then, why must it hurt? why must we feel continents away when our fingers can touch through the paper, through the walls? i whisper things in my sleep in hopes that you will find them. they lace my wall and i think that is the only reason i am warm. perhaps they don’t reach you and i keep writing and it is only building the walls thicker than we came even though we feel as though they are wasting away. i will always miss the sun even though i run from it. i thought i could be myself apart from the things i love.i thought i was big and real and grown, but i am not. i opened my insides to the depth of a finn, a creature i never grew and she forgets to sew me up and i never took lessons. i am learning. i am peeling from the sun. i am me. and sometimes i want to sleep. because pain becomes unbearable and love is unspeakable. maybe i should just draw watercolor tattoos on my arms so you can see what i mean. i want things i cannot have. and wanting takes too much. i love you. please meet at the new year with fireworks. i want to let go but i will never. because a long time ago in lands unknown your fingers found mine and they will never let go. i love you huckleberry
i always will,
bambi
photo by: olivia locher
dear bambi,
we move like ghosts at times and others like true bloods. i told you before we are karmic and not intentional. it’s intended and i need you. need you for whiskey cider and flannel sheets and secrets and frosted couchpillows. need you the next morning when i make mistakes i can’t confide in others. and baby i know why you doubt me sometimes. but bambi. we got a tree, we got it for you and me and we will curl ourselves beneath it. the thing we share above all is the secrets only eachother know. your blond hair makes me dizzy, your gumbo leaves me speechless. the reason why we quarrel is our love, too much too little. love you more than i love your gravy. if i lose you than i lose everything. home sweet home forever. i adore you. love, huckleberry.
deer huckleberry:
what happens when our fingers drift apart? the weather is changing and i feel we are drifting. i want to see your words floating off the page. come carry the moon with me.
bambi
photos: www.olivialocher.com
dear bambi,
i’ve counted 123 sprinkles on your vanilla lips and pulled a cherry stem from your teeth. and the doctor says watch your sweet tooth my dear little deer and you wrinkle your wet nose and promise with your fingers crossed. i’m lighting a fire at home for you, trying to dry up the flood i created turning the wrong knob on the pipe and washing away the macaroons we made for mama. i’ve been thinking on starting a quilt made of soft flannel and swan flesh so we can whisper under it and pretend for just a moment that outside the quilt lies endless miles of nothing and we are all there is forever and ever. you brought home the pumpkin and we carved it with snake eyes and roasted the seeds to feed the birds. i’m thinking of you most often like i always do and bought some pink paint for your duck feet. lovely to dream of us sailing away on a boat and throwing coins into the atlantic wishing well.
you are what i am. forevely, huckleberry
