Who do you admire, child?
I admire the trees.
The trees are a what not a who, my dear.
That's only what you see...
I see the strength
Of the wood through the sorrow
Of the storm, how it rips them apart
I see them give
What the creatures would borrow,
While pain is all that's returned.
I see them cry
From the young man's knife,
Tears for the love it has learned
I see them fade
At the end of their life
As winter seeds ice in their heart
The trees soldier on, and the trees do endure, though life beats on for its way
They lose bits of themselves, and yet they march on
Ever in the light of day.
Sometimes I get flashbacks
of things you said
and things you did
I don't know if they are memories
or if they are things I made up
in my mind
to delude myself into thinking
that we're still perfectly fine
Maybe it's because I don't have
anything left of you
to remember you properly
No ticket stubs, no receipts,
no photographs, no letters
I try to rely on the memories of you
But they are slowly fading
The smell of you, the way you kissed,
the warmth of your hand holding mine,
your voice saying my name,
your strong arms wrapping me,
your eyes staring deep into mine
I don't want you to fade away
"I miss you though."
Is what you say to me
when I suddenly cross your mind
after all this time.
Time passes without parachutes
guarding these seconds.
Little do they tell you
about this thing called distance,
it's like a game of Telephone.
And I believe
that your last two words got lost in translation.
"I miss you though, not enough."
Finds it's way to the floor
Glue stays on my hands
Fixing things is not my speciality
Frustration takes over
I put it back
On the shelf
Saying I'll leave it alone
It needs fixing
I pick it up
I put glue here there
As I hold it
Tears from my eyes find the glass
Or at least I cry so much
I can no longer see the brokenness
i’m in this for the long drive—
both literally and figuratively.
she has fallen asleep, bent forward,
nestling into a blanket (i wish
it was me). i fear that if i gaze at her
too long the sky will open up
and pour into me. she’ll notice.
she’ll know, even in her sleep.
she’ll see through closed eyes,
through the veil of black hair, falling,
through the haze of sleep,
past all the years of friendship,
beyond the “oh, it’s normal
to think about your friends this way
every once in a while” (until it just isn’t
and, well, maybe the last one is more about me.
i forget where i am
until i hear a cough
from the driver. it’s her dad
and he’s watching me
in the rearview mirror.
we make eye contact, and what if
he knows? i think he knows—
how could anyone not know?
i look out the window, not at her face.
i can’t. i want to. what if i just
pulled her into me?
what if the next time i sit to write
about her, i am able to find my words
instead of feeling like a river
running dry. goddammit,
would i know what to say
if i could hold her, just once?
would i feel better if i could just
feel the bend of her side, dip into
the valleys of her body, smooth
all of her edges? i don't know,
i will never know.