Grand Habitat Daybook

by Terese Mason Pierre

Terese Mason Pierre is a Toronto-based writer, editor, and organizer whose work has appeared in CanthiusStrange HorizonsQuill and Quire, and elsewhere online and in print. She is the poetry editor of Augur Magazine and volunteers with Shab'e She'r reading series. Her second chapbook is forthcoming with Gap Riot Press. Visit her online at www.teresemasonpierre.com.

I.

A year, and we are
no closer to our final form,
but when it’s cold, we, together,
choose what music to play
in the bedroom. And when the sun
sets late, we watch the city
depress into underground rivers.

This great estate swarms us.
I, of my father’s name—I, of royalty
and scorched seeds—and you, of lakeshore
musings, thoughts scattered
in blue-green chill.
We fit together like soap and
infant eyes

 

II.

I come back to these pinpricks in the
morning, marvel at what possesses me.
Put on that one expression of yours
upon which others base their clairvoyance

I treat the late night like alcohol—
indulge in the philosophy of it
when you tell me what you tell me, is it
real, or some swollen veneer

When waters rise on the island,
we repaint the greys in the sky,
feed each other bread, complain
about the tapioca in our bubble tea

I hear all the questions
you whisper-ask. I know
all the answers. Still, I am afraid

 

III.

feed that particular strain
of desire; trace the arch
of your sole in my lap,
in purpose—a receptacle,
a memory of lists

we live on the third floor,
watch the street like we
have grandchildren to protect,
news to carry in code

Some parts of the city live
like the city as a whole doesn’t
exist. In my childhood, I wished
for unabated glass, flowers that
never died, a man seen and
not heard, loved and not tired

When I leave, I linger at the door
like my late mother, biding time,
reveling in this June, this mating season

 

IV.

real shores are proud to
hold back danger,
but the lakeshore here is languid,
green and irresponsible

When we walk here, with wine,
we shut away the hydra,
we feel filled, entrenched

 

V.

Imagination, I think, us,
on some vacation,
the true test of bond,
a different blue of sky,
blue skull, blue water

I am feeling hopeful,
which is a moment for me;
ever jealous of your comfort
with vulnerability

We should learn how to drive,
how to isolate ourselves—
you know how I care,
how my ego mewls

 

VI.

I am stubborn
enough to hold you out as
shield; I wax sophistry,
brimming behind midnight,
expanding into the
floor, my cells wet
with bloom

I adore you, you see.
Your words are decadent,
each serif a whole dimension,
some serpentine
fantasticality I call
an abode, I thieve a purpose

We are awash with life.
I was never so I
before you

I ask myself, could I stand
before this work with
any sort of pride, and
my answer is, of course.

 


Terese Mason Pierre is a Toronto-based writer, editor, and organizer whose work has appeared in CanthiusStrange HorizonsQuill and Quire, and elsewhere online and in print. She is the poetry editor of Augur Magazine and volunteers with Shab'e She'r reading series. Her second chapbook is forthcoming with Gap Riot Press. Visit her online at www.teresemasonpierre.com.

☝ BACK TO TOP