Poetry

Whiskers

Whiskers

Whiskers

Jul 24th 2018

Whiskers is a word that changes 
after love making with a man
Hands that hold, not touch
Scratchy lips, hands on my hips. 
Whiskers, like the warmest blanket,
the safest harness, keep me honest.

If I have this with a woman,
she would make me godless.
Venom gets me off a tingle, 
like fanning singles at a stage 
It proxies my craving,
drains my savings.

Whiskers can't be heard the same.
I meet a man. 
He hungers for my frame.
Drinks me like a bottle
from the top shelf.
He had me on the rocks.

I'm not used to bodies
that aren't soft.
Show me hands that
touch, rough with callouses
I'm learning. I'm still teething
I'm seeing. Fire flickers in my belly.

Men feel different.
I like it. He's safe. 
I'm empty. I stop bleeding 
for blank canvases.
He holds me on his shoulders like Atlas.
I needed a foundation.

Instead of chasing strangers
I'm being taken by a man
who knows the finer flavors.
This is the way 
I'm meant to be.
I can taste it.

by Nicholas M. Coulombe
Pownal, ME

COPPER TEALIGHT

COPPER TEALIGHT

COPPER TEALIGHT

September 27th 2018

tattered flags, wedding dress trains
white fringe, cached in dirt road
like baggy jeans, converse worn like religion.
Stockholm syndrome, always ran away

never left home, delicately telling 
time wearing, down eight years
down in the basement, duct-tape cuffed 
to a chair, bandage torn off slow

like a drag, on a thick cigarillo 
from fat lips, fat teeth
fat, you know the drill
ear didn't clover though, despite her Irish eyes

she isn't lucky, enough 
to have scars, that we can see
green with liberty
she is tall, held fire until it shattered

in '17, now she has flash backs
when men in black, held a pen 
to her nose and clicked, now 
she's just a rumor,

"I hear she used to represent freedom"

"I never knew her"

I believe, 
if the statue of liberty had a voice;
and she does...

I believe, 
if the statue of liberty had red heels;
she could run...

I believe, 
if the statue of liberty was a mother;
and she was,

she would have died,
a loud, running, mother,
too young.

-

Nicholas M. Coulombe

INHALE

INHALE

INHALE

Jul 2017

The pharmacist at CVS says I am not prescribed an inhaler anymore.
so in it's place.
I prescribe myself cigarettes

I need something to inhale
cigarettes seem a logical alternative to inhalers

deliberatly I decide to not drive
to the cigar store.
i walk to the cigar store.

it is far enough to be inconvenient
which means maybe
If I am not destined to buy this cigarette
I will receive an overwhelming sensation to turn back

I always add time for potential divine intervention to my agenda.
It happens often enough to be logical

we may have different definitions of logical

the cashier asks my age
And I tell him 21.
I am 22.
somehow In the confusion of waiting for god to prescribe me an overwhelming emotional reaction to not buy cigarettes
Instead of an inhaler.
I forget a whole fucking year of my life.

this is great context for
How I trust myself when making decisions.
which is to say
I don't trust myself to make descisions.

I buy the cigarettes.

upon searching for the optimal location
to loiter and slowly kill myself.
I stumble upon the old teen center.
the first place I was a mentor.

Out the side of the building
There's this rock
Long enough to sit five or so children
two laying down.
it's Perferated like a candy bar
each rectangle curved slightly
custom fit to years of munchkin butt

this slump right here
this slump is my munchkin butt.

each break of chocolate
on the candy bar rock
has a ladyslipper growing behind it.
tips of the five purple flowers
stretch to align perfect with the tips of our childhood belly buttons

humbled, I brush the leaves
excavate delicately
this heirloom.
I had forgotten.

The sky is recovering When I lay myself on the rock.
light grey clouds that want to cry
an optimistic sun that won't let them

I Cover my face with an old journal
made of old book smell.
I smile into the pages.
my lips barely touching the silk threading of her binding.
I've never breathed so intimately
a new lover.
the tip of my nose tucked into her spine.
honeymoon phase, Intoxicating.
Still excited to be in love.

there's breath here
wisdom in the records of
loving young,
cherrishing this new book smell.
Filling your chest with it.

When memories are tangible
There are no more expiration dates

Fill my lungs with
the crisp of unturned pages,
worn leather covers
Soft silk crosstitches

Kiss air into me
from the space between your lines.
I know how intimate an untold story can be.

Today I started breathing
I fell in love With a metaphor.

I never did smoke that cigarette.

-

Nicholas M. Coulombe
Freeport, ME

THE BOY WILL HAVE AN ANSWER.

 THE BOY WILL HAVE AN ANSWER.

THE BOY WILL HAVE AN ANSWER.

- Nicholas Coulombe


I,

am sitting next to my client, the Rabbi

both crossing our right leg over our left

folding our hands on our knee.


"what do you study?" he looks in me.


"education" I say,

loudly into his overgrown ear.


"you need to get serious about your writing. are you a writer or do you call yourself that?"


"I am writing, I was published" I say,

a signed copy resting on his nightstand.


"actively?"


"I.. could write more often.

I write every week, but... I could write every day".


the Rabbi nodded, contented with my answer.

He then asked for the fourth time in the last half an hour, where his holocaust rings were.


I reminded him, as was my job, that the rings were locked away safely. I offered to retrieve the rings and show him.


"no, no, that's okay. sit. sit".


dementia did not rob the Rabbi

of his wisdom.

---


I,

am going to make a map.

my story, forward

what becomes of me.

am I a Writer? a Teacher? an Actor?

a Graphic Designer? a Caregiver? a Father?

a Boyfriend? a Son? a Friend?

a Good person?

a Psychiatrist?

a Mentor? an Activist? God?

Mentally Stable? Rich? an Interesting person.

a public Face? a Public Voice?

a public Hand, Body, Soul, Spirit?

do I want to build a statue?

do I want to take pills for the rest of my life?

do I want to surround myself with Interesting people? Adventurous people? Happy people? people who play Dungeons and Dragons?

does my chosen company Drink?

Smoke?

have Kids?

do I care How I get there?

do I want an Apartment? or a House?

or a Neighborhood? or a Trailor?

or a Park Bench as my living space.

do I want to be known

for being a Good Friend.

do I want

to be remembered WHILE I AM ALIVE

not just after I die. do I want a legacy.

NOW or to build it.

do I want to be patient?

do I want to be Driven,

Persistant,

Motivated. do I want Answers

or to just ask the Questions for now?

ask until a boy with his journal

waits to assist

while I finally know the answer.


---


who am I?

Poached Eggs On Toast

Poached Eggs On Toast

Poached Eggs On Toast

Oct 7th 2018

W
"I was an evil little girl".
I used to stick my tongue out at little boys. They would say,
"SHE STUCK HER TONGUE OUT AT ME".
Then the teachers would always say, 
"Young man, she is a respectable young lady and has done no such thing" So I'd put my thumb to my nose and make faces as they sat".
"My grandmother always raised us to be "GOOOD" "GOOOD" and I was goood.
It was so boring.
They used to get so frustrated with me".
"I was so proud of my father. 
Everywhere he went he had to fix people. 
He changed things 
nomatter where he'd go. He always said 
"I CAN MAKE IT BETTER FOR THEM.
IT CAN BE BETER".
He never loved me. Didn't have time. I should call him.
I want to call my father" 

N
"Did he ever self-actualize and realize that he was making their lives /his version/ of better? Before he died, did he realize maybe what he thought was better wasn't better for everyone?"

W
"No. He was a tsunami that changed everything he touched. We girls respected him. 
Listen to me, hah.
talking about such things, on a toilet.
I have no dignity left. 
We have to laugh. 
Am I crazy? 

N
"You're no more crazy than I am. 
Who wants to be sane? That's no fun".

W
"That's right! If you can't laugh, you die".

N
"Earlier, to describe yourself as a child, you said you were "Evil".  Do you beleive that part of the reason you were so "evil" 
was because you were beautiful? And you knew it?".

W
She paused for a moment and pursed her lips in contemplation.
... "Yes."

The woman nods a slow turtles nod, with both eyes shut and squinting and a pouted mouth. Her puckered lips fade into a smile.

"Yes, absolutely It was".

by Nicholas M. Coulombe
Portland, ME