Poem of the Week / Victoria Sanchez

Best-Laid Plans

Remember that morning

when you blew raspberries on my chest?

You were searching

for Krishna’s fingerprints in the bathtub,

then under the pillow and the curtains––

I think you found them in your slippers.

It takes all sorts to make a world.


He and I built our home together last September.

We used skeleton leaves, white sheets, cigarettes,

hot bodies, tears.

I kept half and he kept half

and we put our home in our pockets.

But tell me, how can you build one home

when you live in two houses?


I’d try to wish to eleven-eleven,

to birthday candles, to falling stars, to God.

But you’re so far away, in that distant,

sea-side city, and not even God will bend

the laws of physics for you, my darling


my land of Nod,

my bandy words,

my battle-axe,

my black lamb,

my cat’s pyjamas.

We’ve been daydreaming between

the devil and the deep blue sea––

sleeping in the lap of the gods,

in hot pots,

in limelight,

in the doldrums.


Since my baby said goodbye,

when the stars were low

and the winds were high.

I dream of him, my baby,

and I cry and cry.


Our home is a bit rusted now,


but it’s still got a little glow––only

I’m trying to decide whether the light’s

coming from the inside or whether

I’m seeing things.


Victoria Sanchez


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