Author: Ashley

I wonder why you like Julien Baker.

At first I thought, the way

she sings–

but no.

Because we listen ’cause we’re drawn

to the heartbreak in her voice

finally, someone who

understands

even if we can’t admit it to ourselves

even as we cry tears

of relief.

So why

you?

What are you drawn to,

in her words?

Always so happy,

bouncy,

compartmentalized

even when life isn’t

perfect.

What is it in you that

draws you, magnetizing

to her words

a homing beacon, a haven?

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.

Maybe it’s just

the music.

But how is it possible to not

bleed at the sound

of a heart breaking,

how can you not

have a wound of your own?

I know you do

half-processed, half-buried

under childhood years and

moving on

and yet–sometimes I see the boy

and then the teen in your eyes, your

hands, as you grip me close–

before you put it all away

like nothing happened

and are you, full of light again,

where those words can’t reach,

crooning, into the dark of you

that corner we all have.

But whether or not you show it

or even know it, yourself

whether or not your tongue can

admit it, or even if

the confession trips

off your teeth–

know, that as we listen. sing

along together.

my heart knows yours

masks and all.

– 1/27/22

when I think of my Abba

I think of all the things

he gave me

to show me he loved me

when I couldn’t–wouldn’t

accept it, didn’t

feel safe in it.

puppy kisses and the smell

of living fur

laughs and rowdiness around

friendsgiving table

the cool wind pushing through

my hair and the rough rock beneath

my fingertips

the laugh I hadn’t felt in days

weeks, months

the boy growing up without me

soon to be my world.

when I couldn’t–wouldn’t

think of him as safe

he crowned me as queen in all

the little ways he knew

would mean something to me

and in it all

instead of shouting his love

from the mountaintops

he was caring enough

to whisper.

– 12/6

take me the way

the Wild Things go

over the snowy hills and the

dirt warmth below

take me the way of

pleasure and pain

as long as you always

lead me home again

take me the way

of the Wild black crows

the tumbling badgers and

fleet footed fawns

take me the way

the Wild Things go

to drink from a creek

fed by melting snow

take me away

lead me by the hand

no need to know

where I go

only where we land.

– 12/6

Lately, I’ve been afraid.

Afraid of seeing him walk

through that door. Afraid

of not seeing him. Of not

knowing, if he’s okay.

But lately, more afraid of

that shaken up feeling, like

a jar that’s been violently

thrown back and forth until

everything’s mixed up

everywhere and things that

had settled to the bottom

are no longer settled but

floating around, suspended

queasy inside, and things that

were clear are no longer

clear and everything is a

jumbled mess of not being

where it’s supposed to be

and not being able to

orient myself like I am

floating in the middle lost

in the memory of used to be

and the empty of what could

have been and the hollow that

is now–can you blame me?

he’s mine

a feeling, a truth

I’ll never

get used to

a warmth budding

in my chest

he’s mine

walking ’round the corner

seeing you sitting there

handsome, cute

so fully you

he’s mine

looking at your sleeping

face, all rest and being

he’s mine

holding me, smiling

into my eyes

arms around arms

he’s mine.

– 12/6

to lie tangled

under white down as

the sun bursts over

the mountains’ ripple

and curve, protecting

the long flat tangle

of farms and orchards.

I lie there, under all

that flagrant blue, warm

and small and curled

into you, just as you are

into me.

and we lie safe, and home

in the beautiful bigness

of it all–

small

and safe and

free.

– 12/6

as the mountains rise

into view, a barely

there blue

I began to feel you again

the way I did mere hours

after our words changed

everything

and our worlds merged.

they’ve been merged, true

since the day we promised

and every day, wonderful

and yet

these last weeks, I’ve felt

that I’ve been

losing you, a little, in the

day to day, our unity

fading

slightly with each passing

friction and uncovering.

desperate but not knowing

how

to draw close again, to you or

myself.

but here as we enter a little

bit of wild again, I feel

our circles of self coming

back to overlap, to

harmony and I look over at you

and think–

there you are.

I’m home.

– 12/6

I was already underwater

when they told me to put it on.

the scuba suit, the mask

the too heavy oxygen tank and

cumbersome hose–

but I was already drowning.

underwater world, everything

a strange tint, too still, too

thick, like moving through goop

limbs

heavy

lungs like banded bird wings

flightless

while everyone else can breathe

just fine

yet I can’t

get enough

can’t force

the little air in

through all this pressure

on my chest.

they look at me

disapprovingly.

‘just put it on,’ they say

‘get yourself under

control, you’ll feel better.’

they’ll feel better.

but it’s the world that’s wrong.

no suit will change that.

but I wrestle it in place and it’s

oh so claustrophobic but

my skin feels a little thicker–

‘I did it,’ I say, looking at them

underwater breathers

ignoring the world

‘you happy now?’

but they bang on the glass

leaving fingerprints

‘let us in, let us in!’ they cry.

I pull back, now afraid

they’ll break it, and I’ll lose

the little air I have

wrestled into steel-trap lungs–

‘I can’t,’ I say.

‘don’t you know? you

should know–

I can’t.’

– 11/10

Sometimes

I hate myself a little

for still grieving

one universe

when I’ve found another.

but universes don’t

replace universes, don’t

you know?

they are their own entities

entirely unique and

special

and whole in their

ownness

and of

course I’m still

grieving,

who wouldn’t?

you can cry and laugh

at the same time,

don’t you?

endings and beginnings all

bundled into

one.

I forgive myself.

when I look back on today

and tomorrow

I want to remember.

remember the feeling

of almost,

ready to be fulfilled.

remember all our friends

crowded around that long table

so many we needed

extra chairs to make room

for all that love

so much it overflowed

into tears.

I want to remember the

crescent moon and how

that one star seemed to

float

so close

the air so clean, so full

of peace, and grass and

the name of the Lord

on so many tongues

and His presence

over us, covering

what is and is soon to be.

I want

to remember

walking along the gravel

hand in hand

petting the horse’s soft

looming head through

the fence in the dark and just

feeling at home

finally

with you.

sitting on the porch

kissing you, with both hands.

is this how we’ll do it

tomorrow, you ask?

yes, I say.

3-5 seconds, not long enough

to thoroughly savor

the taste of I love you

but it’ll do.

sitting on the porch in

the night, full circle to when

this all began, we

began

and I tasted forever

for the first time–

here we are.

full

with the rightness

of being here

with you,

with promise.

every tomorrow with you

pregnant

with the hope

of all we have

to live.

– 9/11