Paula Harris
living with the dead boyfriends
dead boyfriends don’t steal away
the sheets during the cold nights,
they don’t snore or breathe too loud,
although they can’t warm your feet
dead boyfriends don’t forget things:
to take out the rubbish bag,
to unclog the laundry sink,
to delete their exes’ numbers
dead boyfriends will sit with you,
they always notice sadness
and happiness and crying
and they notice stuff, alright?
they notice your eyelash tint
and that you’re out of chocolate
and that your eyes are bloodshot
and ask if you’ve been sleeping
dead boyfriends kiss you again
and again and again and
again and again and, damn,
you don’t want them to stop ever
dead boyfriends fuck you real slow
or hard or on the lawn or
in the kitchen or in the
light or how you want them to
they will give the right answers
when you want to talk to them
and they’ll ask the right questions
and their deep voices won’t whine
they don’t forget to call you,
they don’t say the stupid things,
they don’t fuck you over, again,
they’re so much easier dead
dead boyfriends are easier
if you want to love someone
and be loved but you find that
live ones never love you quite right
the dead boyfriends must stay dead
the sheets during the cold nights,
they don’t snore or breathe too loud,
although they can’t warm your feet
dead boyfriends don’t forget things:
to take out the rubbish bag,
to unclog the laundry sink,
to delete their exes’ numbers
dead boyfriends will sit with you,
they always notice sadness
and happiness and crying
and they notice stuff, alright?
they notice your eyelash tint
and that you’re out of chocolate
and that your eyes are bloodshot
and ask if you’ve been sleeping
dead boyfriends kiss you again
and again and again and
again and again and, damn,
you don’t want them to stop ever
dead boyfriends fuck you real slow
or hard or on the lawn or
in the kitchen or in the
light or how you want them to
they will give the right answers
when you want to talk to them
and they’ll ask the right questions
and their deep voices won’t whine
they don’t forget to call you,
they don’t say the stupid things,
they don’t fuck you over, again,
they’re so much easier dead
dead boyfriends are easier
if you want to love someone
and be loved but you find that
live ones never love you quite right
the dead boyfriends must stay dead
Biography
|
Paula Harris (she/her) lives in New Zealand, where she writes poems and sleeps in a lot, because that's what depression makes you do. She won the 2018 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the 2017 Lilian Ida Smith Award, and is the author of the chapbook i make men like you die sweetly (dancing girl press, 2019). Her poetry has been published in various journals, including Berfrois, Queen Mob's Teahouse, Barren, SWWIM, Glass, The Spinoff and Landfall. She is extremely fond of dark chocolate, shoes and hoarding fabric.
Twitter: @paulaoffkilter Facebook: @paulaharrispoet Instagram: @paulaharris_poet Website: paulaharris.co.nz |
