i do not have the words for this
i feel them tearing and clawing at my throat
like a name on the tip of my tongue
like a forgotten answer to a test
that is just there, just there
i do not remember my mother's funeral,
or if you were there
but i wish i could go back
not for her
but so i could drag you by my side
and dig my fingernails into your arm
so that i would not be bleeding alone
most of my love is ugly
it's vicious and it wants you to hurt as much as i do
while, like i'm watching a tennis match between twin hermes,
my thoughts vascillate so fast
i dream that we meet in a grey haze
it might be the first place i saw you
(a kitchen, i was 12, you were 29, and i loved you then
in a way i did not yet know, and still don't)
in this dream i let you fold me into you
and squeeze the breath out of me
i wake up and wander the day, dazed and chilled
when you found me last year
sobbing with drunken abandon into my sleeves
do you know how you crushed my heart in between the teeth of your words
and gave me back something i knew how to use
i'm not saying it's gotten easier for me
i'm just saying i know a better way to survive
like the funeral, i can't even remember what you said
now i am 23, and you are 39
and i am learning not to deny that
i love you in that mysterious way
leftover from the last hurrah of my childhood
and this new, ugly way
that makes me want to clench bruises into your arms
while i tell you exactly how you make me feel
(it would be a revelation to us both)
you are my brother in sorrow
and i would give anything to know
how tight you could hold me
and if it could take me back
to that moment, alone in the church i grew up in
when i said goodbye to my mother
among other things
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
Covered in plaster dust, I stumble out
coughing, and laughing
you wipe the white and dirt from around my eyes and
fail to be stern
i’m supposed to leave these things to the professionals
not a google search and my bare hands
once, i plastered and painted a bedroom wall
for a ********* i was living with
and now i think i am a handyman genius
then i whine for hours at the cuts on my fingers
the soreness between my shoulders
you roll your eyes and run a bath
and tease me when i still pick up the cat
eventually we have to hire someone
to repair what years and lack of life
(and my mistakes)
have done to this old house
we sit on the porch with beer
no longer afraid of it caving underneath us
we wake, curled around each other and
the blanket we dragged outside
the hungry cat pawing at our hair
you are bathed in the glow of the early sun
i clutch your sleeves and i am grateful
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
I have thought of you in this sticky heat
in my self-imposed exile
Half asleep, feeling broken
in my bed that is an empty sailboat
i blindly wave out my hands
and smash them into the softness of your body
because i need better proof that you are real
i woke up three times today
each time, choking like i had been
held at the bottom of the sea with weights on my ankles
only to break surface and see that the air is still salt water
we talk of anchors
of heavy weights that keep us run aground
i stand on your anchor, feeling the sharp points dig into my feet
wrap my arms around the cold metal
from the distance i’d like to look like a mermaid with twin tails\
but i am a sailor,
straddling the difference between earth and water
i have thought of you in this sticky heat
i have wanted to sweat out my misery with you
soaking the sheets with salt water
and when i wake up drowning you would press to my mouth
the bruises i gave you in my sleep
the only dry land between us
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
I hold my grudges like poetry,
Because I like the way it tastes when I look at you.
My grandmother tried to teach me, forgive and forget.
I pulled the past out of her dead, clawed hands.
I imagine you, held down by the weight of my frustration
Crumbling as I pile one more fault, another complaint
If it helps, I don’t go easy on myself, either
And you wouldn’t know it anymore than you know
How much I’d like to see you cry.
At the end of all things, it won’t matter
So why does it feel so good right now,
Pretend playing the day I can mimic your
Silken, lion’s smile
And tell you exactly where in hell you can go.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
We have a cottage,
not quite out of the way,
but mostly.
Inside, there are cats that slip
in and out of their cat-flap.
We feed them from our hands,
and spoil them with cans of tuna.
(Cans that I eat, too.)
We sit in a swing on our porch,
Reading books dog-eared for each other,
And under a light rain,
We let the stray drops cool our cheeks,
and damp our pages.
Sometimes, in thunderstorms,
I pet your hair and hold you.
Sometimes, I hide on the roof,
and you throw pinecones until I come down.
When you’re mad, you throw apples
from our tree.
Once you throw a rock.
Later, I keep the rock in our kitchen,
blaming it for our problems instead of you.
When we go, the roses and blues and greens of our inside dull to grey,
the cats don’t come home,
the books wither to dust,
and no one makes fruit salads
or plants vegetables in our garden.
then one day, back from life again,
we tentatively tiptoe back in,
connected by our little fingers.
You go first, always braver, but I
am close on your heels.
Everything we touch turns bright,
a soft meow sounds from the door.
We don’t always have this,
but we always have each other.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
I would touch you
and find where your soul
rests under your ribcage.
I will write wishes and prayers
on each bone, sealing you with kisses,
but only after I have felt all of you that is.
Maybe then I could let you go.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
I’m full of holes
and like a puzzle piece,
you sink into me
and mold to my shape.
Our peace counts on;
Safety in numbers,
safest with you.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
In the morning, over coffee
as you read the book I have dog-eared for you, I will
lift your arm and bring your wrist to my lips first,
and then my ear, and listen.
You will joke about the ocean, and I will shush you,
a routine. We’ll fall back into silence, and I will
just faintly,
hear your pulse.
I will lie over your left breast as we sleep,
my favorite side of you.
Whenever you hold someone close,
I will be envious that in that moment
they hear you and feel you beat and I cannot.
I will not grow angry or spiteful,
But I will envy.
When we grow old,
I will press my ear to your belly
and you will hold my hand over your heart,
our hair now different shades of the same color,
our skin still the same fabric on different bodies.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
It’s as if time floods back and forth through my veins, numbing my arms
A thousand lifetimes where where we know the shape of each other’s skin
like the seed knows to grow
And the wood knows the split and crack of years
A thousand you and me.
But sovereign sister, my red queen,
We only have this
The ropes in our hearts spread taught
Our souls waiting, incomplete
Hands groping for ghosts of touch.
When I first map your jawline with my lips,
I will know the path, and make a new one.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC