I haunt this house I once called home

The floors creak

The cats watch me

But your grief exists around me—untouched

I have seen the joy leave your body

I have seen you wracked by sobs,

Curled in the bed we slept in together

I see your eyes wander,

Glaze over,

All of your consciousness lost to another place

Another time, perhaps?

I remember the day we first came here

Some velvet-lined, sepia-colored summer afternoon

I said that we would die in this house

I did not dream

Had not thought

That I would be the death of us

Meanwhile, in an apartment downtown,

My soul walks the well-worn path of an ordinary life

Brush my teeth

Feed the cat

Open the window and breathe in the soft autumnal morning light

My heart sits at table in front of a mojito,

Laughing at another man’s jokes

And the mint tastes like starting over

And the laughter feels like freedom

But my heart

My heart feels like homesickness and guilt

And my head is already on his chest

As we lay in the quiet dark

All of the fragmented pieces of myself

Disjointed

As though you were the glue that held us together

The first item of the gay agenda is call the meeting to order
We count for quorum and make sure the entire rainbow is present,
My mom taught me meeting manners
At our conference room, dinner table.

They told a Ginsberg to write like a Kerouac
And they told a millennial to act like a baby-boomer
But the difference between Ginsberg and me is that he could’ve had the Dream
But when they wrote it down, they left out the gays
And the the LGBT’s left out me.

They saw the way that the gays were eyeing monogamy
Like it was a sequin halter top once worn by Bowie
So, white, straight, cis America wrote to the government,
And now it’s The American Dream, Patent Pending.

We came to this world,
with our hearts bound together.
It's written in the stars.
Forever we shall be together.
No matter how far away we go from each other.
Fate will bring us back together.
Far or near, we will always find each other.
In this world and beyond,
our love will shine through.
A love, like a guiding light
to light up the path,
for other lovers to find and follow.

And it's graduation,
I'm thinking "now or never",
And you look at me
Like this is it,
And you clasp my hand
Like when we were kids,
And my ******* are hard
From the nighttime chill,
And our pasty skin is fluorescent,

We count backward from ten,
And at one we leap off the dock,
Into the icy river,
And I can hear your feet
Propelling you to the thick black surface,
But I stay under
Feeling the water
And the little bits of sand
Floating up around me,

And when I'm ready,
I plant my feet on the ground,
And kick off,
My head finally bobbing under the stars,
And you're already laughing
Like your mind is as far from me as your future,
But I'm ready now,
Because all I can do is move on
and laugh with you

Well ducks, it was the place to gather in those days.
There were ceiling fans that made one think
that Baron Von Richtofen might fly in at any moment.
I wondered whether a man wearing coveralls had to climb
up on a ladder each morning
to heave the blades into motion.

They served a concoction of fruit, gin, crushed ice,
the low notes from Hernando's Hideaway, and who knew
what else. It tasted like children's party punch
but made our high perches start to  pitch
on the rough seas beneath our jelly legs.

Down some white stone stairs, there was a blue pond
someone had stocked with mallards, as green and gold
as my jewelry. They were free to fly
but could never leave--the desert
would have turned them to cardboard.

We slept with scorpion nets. One night I dreamt
that a handsome man in a uniform of water lay with me,
told me my hair was good rope from India, and
that I had been a snake charmer
in a previous life. He kissed me and it stung.

Ah, love, there you are looking at me through your new
telescope, your young face behind the lens like an egg.
I gave up gin, and traveling, and most other things long ago.
Now I'm talking to you with my bird beak,
free to choose but forbidden to leave

except via packing box, to be sent by air mail over the dunes
to the oasis bar, c/o my younger self, cash on delivery, payable
in florins, code phrase "wing walker." The Baron will be there waiting.
___

She sat alone, beside the door
not asking much, not asking more.

She didn’t wait for steps to fall
but for a glance.
No cry. Just call.

. . .

She wasn’t silent out of fear,
nor lost for words that wouldn’t clear.

She simply held that hush so deep
your broken soul
could rest, could sleep.

. . .

When you were cruel, she did not shake.
When you were low, she’d bend, not break.

She breathed like grass, a quiet thing,
forgave it all, just with a blink.

. . .

You could have left.
Or screamed. Or lied.
Or tossed your anger off with pride.

She knew it all.
She didn’t plead.
She breathed, just breathed
like hope, like need.

. . .

And if you left and never came
past morning’s hush, beyond the flame

she still would sit…
no names, no cries…
and watch the night
as if
it shines.

And
I’ll never be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I will never hide my chickenpox,
Grind me to sand, and I'll shout to the wind,
Wash me! Wash me away!

I’ll never pretend that I am pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,
I’ll let my skin dry like the Atacama desert,
I’ll let the harsh mountain storm bite my face,
The eagles eat my flesh on the tower of silence, so
There is nothing left to dream about,
Not even bone dust for the rain,

I’ll fight like gladiators, not to be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I won’t let the clouds overshadow my scalp,
I’ll pull right now, one by one, every hair follicle,

What you ask me to be is not beauty, it is a butterfly
That flies and flies around a light bulb
Until it dies

A shadow that weaves white nights,
I will not invent myself to be pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,

If you wish to enter my blood,
You have to swim in the imperishable waters,