In my life
I have known of cradles;
where the walls that
surround and protect you,
rock back and forth.
The slow sensation
reminding you that you are here
you belong
you are loved.

But I have grown to love other cradles.

There was the cat’s cradle.
A mess of string that when woven
between fingers somehow made sense.
It was a conversation between me and you,
another back and forth.
What strings would you pull
other than the ones in my chest?

Then there are the cradles that involve no string
No pieces of lumber.
Just arms,
and my heart listening to yours.
There is a comfort, a sense of security.
You feel grounded.
Like two figures molded out
of the same clay, but never separated.
You have the hands of a sculptor
as they slowly run over my cheek
pressing in ever so slightly
over my dimples.
I wear nothing but a blanket
and a smile,
but I have never felt more beautiful
or whole.

I am here.
I belong.
I am loved.

The phone rings
at 3 am.
followed by a half-awake, "Hello?",
a muffled conversation,
and knuckles barely making contact with
my door.
She can't bring herself to wake me up
from a quiet sleep and the daydream that has been my life.
But I'm already awake.
And deep down I already know.

Fast forward an hour later.
I hear the out of rhythm steps
of your boots making their way up the stairs
and finally into the house.
We meet in the kitchen.
The wall of Smirnoff and beer
greets me like an overenthusiastic child.
Then I see your body,
a shape I almost don’t recognize;
your eyes look right past me
like you are talking to someone in the next room.
“I don’t know what will happen” you said,
as mom explained to me what was going on.
“I don’t know what will happen” you said
as you leaned on me like a crutch on our way to your bedroom.
“I don’t know what will happen” you said
when I left you to sort this out,
to put the pieces back together,
to sober up.
I crawled back under the covers,
painfully aware the ache that
has found its way to the pit of my stomach.

I hear another knock on my door,
not so gentle this time.
The door opens and I'm
greeted by a wobbly hand
wrapped around the barrel of a gun.
“I don’t know what will happen” you say,
as you place the gun in my hand.

I want to drop to the ground;
to curl into a ball and
let my tears lull me to sleep,
Only to wake up tomorrow
and have this all be a dream.
But this moment is as solid, and real
As the gun now under my pillow.
My heart races as it tries to outrun
someone else’s demons.
I don’t sleep that night.

There is one way I’ll always remember you.
It's a memory that clings to me like clothes to my back
on a Friday afternoon in July.
Your boss let you out early.
I remember the sun on my face
and the sound of
the swamp cicadas seeming to cheer me on.
“Go on.” I hear you say
“Give it a shot. “

There is one way I’ll always remember you.
I stare at my target,
a hard blue plastic
bucket at your feet.
I pick up the Snoopy fishing pole and watch the red bobber
twist and turn about
at the end of the line.
Just like we practiced, I think.
With the swing of an arm and the pull of the trigger I cast it away
and listen to the thunk of the bobber as it lands
in the bucket.
I remember the look on your face.

I haven’t heard that sound
and I haven’t seen that face since.
But I keep casting.

I.
You bought me flowers.
Five months,
four moments of fire,
three conversations about “the ones that got away”,
two hands tracing the inside of each other’s palms,
and one disappointing thought later,
Here we are.
I almost want to say
you should have known better.
But how could you have known?

II.    
When I was six my sister
painted makeup on my face
and told me I looked like a grown- up.
Miniature mountains of mascara covered my lashes
while the colors of a bouquet
like the one sitting on my cluttered desk,
rested on my eyelids.
My eye was so itchy
but six year old me refused to scratch because
I didn’t want the illusion to smudge.
I couldn’t bring myself to ruin her masterpiece.

III.
I have this nightmare.
I stand in a room full of mirrors
but my eyes are shut.
I try to decode the map in my mind
of where to go from here.
How to go from point A to point C without seeing B.
Because B will be in pain. And he won’t understand
why he was overlooked when all signs pointed
towards having someone pass though
or having someone stay a while.
I think of you. How any apology
any “No, you really shouldn’t have”
won’t be good enough.
I am rendered speechless
by carnations
by daisies
by baby’s breath.