Author
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
airplanes over
Missouri fields
to
wrestling games on the
bedroom floor
a
whirlwind of weeks
in which
I somehow love you
more than before
rearranging the living
room, putting up
with me crying over my
childhood home
laughing at the
sight of you
busting out of the
bathroom door
wet hair
with my robe on
strike a pose
and
leaning over you
hands to either side
of your bare chest
my hair falling
like a thin curtain
I can’t help
falling in love
with you
over and
over
again
– 7/20
I didn’t think I’d cry
because we knew
this was coming
we’d pre-promised
after all.
but I underestimated
the power
of the thing in my chest
forgot how strong
it still is, even
in its battered, scarred
state, and when
you moved to kneel…
the tears came
the feeling welling in
my throat, rising
in my chest as I saw
the same in your eyes.
and before you spoke
we were both crying
for the joy of it
for having each other
for the beauty
and bond of
promising
for speaking the words
aloud and hearing them
accepted, for being
accepted
to know that you
are home
for good and for
always.
home.
– 7/5/21
7/2
not the day I
would have chosen,
but when it was happening
I felt nothing
but joy.
and in the end maybe
it’s a good thing
this part of my life coming
full circle
the best and worst day
of the year
when I hoped beyond
hope he’d
reach out
feel loved by me, maybe
show a little back.
the barest crumbs
were my banquet
and I accepted them with
everything
I had–and then
readied myself again
to wait
365 days
until next year.
I told myself it was
worth it. just to get
a tiny piece of him.
and now, on the second
year I kept to myself
no acknowledgement except
the lingering sorrow
in my heart–
there was you.
you.
you kneeling before me
offering me
everything
everything
everything
365 days a year
24/7
no more waiting for
crumbs just to
pretend to be satisfied.
with you, the banquet
is real, and I don’t have
to claw, fight my way
to your attention or sit
in my corner of the world
hoping you’ll come
visit me.
no, you kneel and offer
your heart, your mind
your body, your time
your emotions
your love, your grief
your sacrifice
your all
for me
for me
for me.
on this one day
of the year when I
took little and felt it
the world
I’m given everything
offered freely
and I’m ready
to offer in return
knowing the truth of it–
no more crumbs
not for me.
– 7/5/21
the pull I may feel
for the rest of my life
the way my body feels alive
in new air, touching and
tasting and laughing new things
experiences collected like
annotated Polaroids on the wall,
honey lavender coffee on my
tongue, a giant bed to
sleep in, crisp air and too-thin
jacket waking me up with a
breath.
but also–you.
you, waking up in the apartment
snuggling Phoenix in the
bed, making dinner, watching
Breaking Bad, familiar
smells, the soft of
blanket, the way your
skin feels on mine, intoxicating and
home.
when I look at the skyline
I am thinking of
mountains
and also of you.
a pull and push that perhaps
keeps me balanced
a homing beacon and a
star-flung reaching
in and out of my body
at the same time
a dreamer with a heartbeat
that doesn’t
quite
belong only
to just her.