Losing someone
To death or
To distance

Loving someone
To death or
To life

The Nakedness of Execution*

~for Balanchine~*

the empty page possesses the perfect clarity of nothingness,
making it perfectly clear nothingness has no business here

come, execute,
clothe thy nakedness,
be a carpenter and build
a shelter for your cover  

be a carpenter

construct the art that dresses thy body
yet, undresses the glowing glory spirited nakedness
we desire,
let us see the visibility of your naked invisibility

execute
unmasked unadulterated unasked unmodulated

pick the wood, select the tools, carve the words
on your forehead, Carpenter Cain
that we may copy them onto our eyes

ask then what can I make of my perfect clarity
and execute
disclose yourself, clothe ourselves

It's 1 am
and I am giving you the green light
to kiss me for the first time
in a world where we've always been careful
to avoid the acknowledgement
of this particular intersection
tonight
it exists
and the both of us know it
with your hand in my hair and
my fingers around your neck
refusing to let go of each other
as if we're just now beginning
to make up for lost time
maybe that's why we're so insatiable
too much is never enough
and time is something we can't
ever
get enough of

It's 2 a.m
and I want to sing you to sleep
with songs of the flutter in my chest
and the blush on my cheeks when
you walk into a room
I want to hold the parts you
dislike about yourself in the palm
of my hands
and hold them like first time lovers
careful
and passionate
concerned not at all with the time
but instead the sweat
dripping down her spine
and his face when her eyes are wide
with something far stronger
than pleasure

It's 3 a.m.
and I want to love you so hard
that you wake up loving yourself too
there are not enough mirrors in the world
to accurately reflect yourself back to you
to make you see yourself
the way I have always seen you
there are not enough words in any language
to tell you all the things my heart feels
but my mouth doesn't know how to say
and I love you in ways other people
will never be able to
understand
because they can't feel my heart race
as you reach for my hand
or as your lips land on mine
or when time completely stops
as you mouth the words I love you

in a world where we have always been careful
to avoid the acknowledgement of this particular intersection
tonight
and forever
it exists

do you remember the table. you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but do you remember the table. the garage sale your mother went to one summer morning and the beginning of the end. the small wooden table she couldn't help but to buy for the day that will never come. you buried it's possibility of existing the day you decided to let me go. but back to this table. do you remember it yet. how we imagined making pancakes in the morning and sitting at that table over cups of cold orange juice and warm breakfast and happy hearts. helping the kids with their homework and doing... other things I'm not comfortable discussing with your mother when she asks what we'll do with it one day. you know. you used to want me in any way you could get me. now I write the names of the children we will never have until my hands shake. I make too many pancakes and pour four more glasses of juice than I need for the family we will never create. it's a habit I can't seem to break. just tell me that you remember the table.

"What's it like?"*
Someone asks you on the bus, in line at the supermarket, or over a Sunday cup of tea.
It's a funny feeling; your stomach shifting uneasily and the smile forming on your face simultaneously.
You've done it again. Your lips couldn't help but to frame his name in a conversation that had nothing to do with him. And yet, you still found a way to think of him and mumble his name through a grin and a heavy heart.
So, what's it like?
They mean being away from the one you love, but all you can comprehend is what it is like to love him. And to love him, some days, is your only saving grace. Your safe spot. And yet, at the same time, your Achilles heel. Those parts of your heart are tender with the lonely nights, the constant worry, and the million and one what if's. The fact that you watch a How to Make the Perfect Omelette video at midnight while laying in bed alone, because he is gone, and all you can do to pass the time is plan things for when he comes home. It's a culmination of every night you thought would be the last night without him. It's waking up the next morning to an empty, quiet home, and filling up the air with awful noises that escape from the deepest parts of sadness. It's waking up in a panic saying his name in the middle of the night because you were dreaming of him once again. It's how, anymore, dreams are the only way you see or hear from him.
But love? It's also waking up six hours early the day he comes home, because you're too excited to possibly sleep. It's spending entirely too much time doing your hair and makeup that morning, when you know all he cares about is having you in his arms again. It's seeing his car pull up. It's the butterflies you get and the smile you couldn't stop if you tried. It's running up to him after months of imagining this moment and it being so much more perfect than you ever could have thought. It's feeling him wrap you up in his embrace and finally, finally feeling whole again. It's the second, or the third, or the hundredth "first" kiss.
It's everything.

I guess I don't know why coming here brings me peace. The obvious answer would be, it's the beach, what isn't peaceful about that? But it isn't the calming slosh of the shoreline or the gentle breeze through my hair or the warm sand between my toes. It isn't even my new tan I'm sporting from coming here for hours upon hours nearly every day.
It's the thought. The possibility. I look out over the waves onto the horizon of the endless sea of blue. And I think of you. Part of me finds it unbelievably frustrating that I have absolutely no idea where you are in this world, but when I'm here, I am free to imagine that you're here, too, just outside of my reach.
And it's okay to be lonely here. There are plenty of people here by themselves. Reading a book, taking a nap, or simply doing nothing. That's the thing; no one looks at you strangely when you show up to the beach in a military town toting your bookbag and your flip flops in hand. Everyone is missing someone here.
And it was here that I decided I wanted a sailboat. Someday. With you. Someday when we would be able to use it. Both of us. Whenever we wanted. No sea schedule or training or deployment stopping us from waking up one morning and deciding that today, we're sailing away from here for a little while.
But that day is many, many days away, and today, I'm simply sitting at the beach, alone.

It's been 59 days since I've seen you and I'm sitting here thinking about how we say the words "I can't" so casually. So endearingly. I can't wait to see you again. But what is promising about that? Why do we always find those words shoving out of our mouths, flying off of our finger tips. I can't wait. But we can wait, and we will wait, and we do. We always do. Without question, we wait and we wait and we wait, without promise of when it will be that we'll see each other again. Without certainty, without doubt, we wait. And this has been and always will be the case when it comes to you. So no, I can't wait to see you again, yes.
But I will.

I moved into our new apartment building
and for two weeks
every time I heard someone in the hallway outside our front door
I imagined it was you
coming home to me

for two weeks
I had every light in our place on
all the time
to let myself pretend
this home was occupied
and wished
I had someone
to argue over
the electric bill
with

for two weeks
I went to the beach
and sat alone
stared out into the ocean
for hours
until the sun burned my skin
and the sand found it's way
into my eyes
here
I allowed myself
to think for a moment
that you are only miles
away from me
just out of my reach
but safe
nonetheless

for two weeks
I looked out the bedroom window
and the kitchen window
and the living room window
all the windows I could find
searching for your car
your face
you

in two weeks we came so close
to seeing each other
and yet
we're still so far apart

for two weeks I checked my phone
two hundred times a day
I sent you texts
I knew you would not answer
or receive
and called to tell your voicemail
goodnight

for two weeks I fought back tears
in grocery stores
as I bought entirely too much food
for just one person
but I filled up the cart anyway
because what if you come home?
the milk went sour
and the bread ran dry
and I took out four bags of trash
by myself

in two weeks
I transformed a house into a home
without you
I hung decorations you have never seen
in a place you have never been
I bought furniture
without asking your opinion
on the tan sofa
or the gray one
I had to make these decisions
without you
I put together our dinner table
and ate at it alone
I found
this home feels one hundred times
more empty
with all these furnishings
that are meant to accommodate
several people
and yet
here I am
alone

for two weeks
for two months
I've waited
and god
please let it be over soon

I remembered in science class
We watched this video about the water cycle

They said something about rain
And how they were in those things called clouds
How over time they would cool down
And how they fall
Tiny drops plummeting to Earth
Conforming into shape wherever they ended up
In definite volume when in constant pressure and temperature
As they slowly become the makings of the oceans
Waves crushing, brushing over the shores, hiding what's below
Each wave a secret the ground could never know
But they gave it life and motion
Luscious colors, traces of red, blue, yellow
All combining into everything else, for everyone else
But they themselves only embraced what was around
Made to be see-through
But they never noticed
How in yourself you drowned

They played with you, toyed with you
Abused you, consumed you
Under the sun, broad day
In plain sight you slowly fade
But they never noticed
Until it was too late


Only then they called you, knew your name
Said something about the rain
About those clouds they didn't see
As guilty tears went down their cheeks
They call you now
But you can't speak

It's a cycle, they said
Something that never ends

Yet here I am longing



I remembered you in science class