i think my soul
knew you before
my mind did. as
if all the **** i went
through was just
paving stones and
concrete, just
making sure i had
the right foundation
for you.
how many
coincidences are
too many coincidences?
i really couldn’t tell you.
but there is a softness i
feel in my rib cage that
i’ve never felt before,
like all those weeds i
thought i’d been growing
in there were actually
just a prairie for the
yarrow and the anise
you’ve wound around my heart.

i wish i was in the u.s.
we live for these moments
where time is not too             far
ahead     or     behind,
when we whisper across
w a v e s  and  p a s t u r e s
that the only place we
see ourselves in five
years is rings and creaky
floors,    maybe    a cat
(maybe  t w o ,  love*)
and an old couch from
a thrift store in
leeds. this is the
time when you sing to
me all the songs we're
now calling  "O  U  R  S,"
and we make some kind
of playlist up for the rainy
days when you say you
feel unsettled and grace
is the only thing
holdingyoutogether.
there is comfort in
knowing that our feet
touch the same earth
day          after         day
step              after     step,
that we have no choice
but to only    keep
going    until we are
toe-to-toe,
heart-to-heart.

when i was little i wanted to grow up
to be a tree, did i ever tell you that?
there was an oak tree next to my house
and i loved her like she had given me
my skin, used to plant tulips at her feet
and sing to her on the coldest days
of winter so she would know i hadn't
forgotten about her as soon as the first
day got shorter. i thought if i breathed
with her long enough i would learn to
be tall, learn to be sturdy, learn that wind
is nothing but a momentary nuisance.
i would stand at her base and let the sun
that rippled through her leaves paint
freckles on my nose while i reached my
arms up toward the clouds like vines,
thought i could bend and stretch and make
a home for the birds and the butterflies.

my dad always told me there is no such
thing as something that is too far away.
there are always cars, always boats and
trains and ladders. if you want something
bad enough, he would say, distance
doesn't exist. but an ocean. but an ocean.

sometimes i think i could feel you in my
fingertips before i knew you. like when
i was stretching up to the endless sky,
you were pulling from somewhere else. i
wonder if the me who wanted to be a home
for the earth knew she'd grow up to want
to be a home for you.

we have wandered to these parts
(yeah, 'these parts,' mim, that's what
we call that here in kansas)
because you said this was the only
place the sky could almost touch you
if you stretched your fingers far enough.
when we reach the top of the hill
you climb up on a rock that seems
impossible, shout nasty words
because you don't think anyone can
hear you way up here. the sun
starts to slip toward the horizon
and you turn to me with a pink
reflection in your eyes, tell me to
reach my hands up until i can't
reach any further.
oh, this is a good one. you feel that? you feel that?
i look at you, your arms far above
your head and eyes closed, your
skin honey colored in this light.
*yeah. yeah i can.

orange marmalade
gooey on our fingertips,
sweet on your lips. i say
i could spend all day feeding
you toast and honey but no
no only cookies you tell me.
the warmth from behind your
knees runs through my thighs
and i think i could get used to
the way the sun turns your
skin as golden as your heart.

we let these valleys run deep
in our veins with no questions
anymore. it has become second
nature to know these winds,
to hear the song the leaves sing
before a storm rolls over the
hills on the other side
of the county.

i always thought my
eighteenth year would be
the last i would know the
rustle of the pampas grass
in the early morning or the
way the snow settles deep
over everything beyond our
property. now twenty-three
draws nearer quicker than
a younger version of me
could have ever imagined
and i feel it tightening in
my chest with each passing
day, that small town desire
to find the things i've been
left out of for two decades.

mama used to say i had
the universe in my bones,
told me she thought i
would explode from it, said
just yesterday that there is
a longing inside me that
she doesn't think will ever
be tamed. i never thought
the midwest sun could hold
me, yet i keep bowing at her
feet, keep begging her to
swallow me. maybe if i stay
a while longer it will be
enough to carry with me.

i wonder how much home
i can soak up before i go.

heartbeat

i have
been trying
to remember
to pay attention
to my body when
i'm walking, to not
forget it is me in here
but is it me in here with
these storms and hurried
thoughts i have been reaching
for a long time toward some
kind of reconciliation and
it is getting further and
further away from me
my forever ending
was not so forever
was not so final
was not what
i had hoped
it would be
who  am i
if not the
owner  of
these hands
when did my
will to fight run
so fast i could not
catch her i could not
begin to keep up with
her dreams and all of her
ambitions but she calls to me
from somewhere so far away i
can justbarelymakeoutthewords
please     don't     lose      me      but
i am struggling through weeds
and branches that are too thick
and she cries for me from the
top of a mountain from the
top of where i used to
keep     his     heart
put yourself here
she says
put yourself here


heartbeat

what i would miss most is the
way she says my name
calls me "sweetie"
calls me "meggie"
says "i don't know what i would do
without you and your sister"
i've been collecting these words
since the day i was born
(her birthday, too)
been storing them in
locket after locket
jewelry box after jewelry box
always worried i'll
run out of space but for her i
would buy a thousand jewelry boxes
ten thousand lockets so i can
remember her voice until i'm
two hundred years old
so i can show my kids
how grandma whispered
how grandma laughed
how grandma loved

the hill dips down deep
behind our house, stretches
out to touch the creek and
runs itself right up to the tree
line. when i was sixteen and
i wanted to die i would come here
and beg the sky to tell me why i
wished my skin would fall off,
why i couldn't bare the sight
of my own hands. i used to
think the ground would
just soak me up,
wouldn't it, if i stayed
there long enough. but
katie always found me, always
yelled for kerstyn to scoop
me from the heap i had
created out of myself and take
me to my room before mom
wandered upon me, the brim of
her shirt filled with blackberries
and her fingers stained.

but now i lay here and i
fill my eyes with sky
and sunlight, think about how
thumbs is buried not too far
off, think about how every once
in a while i'm sure i've caught a
whiff of the fur around her neck
when the wind shifts just right. i
let the leaves trace my body
and crunch under the weight
and pull of my fingers
and i
breathe breathe breathe
until i remember that i no
longer have to force myself to
do it. is this what normal feels like?

l i k e      t h e      g l a s s
bottles on my bookshelf
you havemade yourself
a permanent  and dusty
home. i used to hate the
smell  of   my   skin  and
the shape of my   mouth
butyouhaveneverlooked
at me  like i am anything
less than a human being,
anything less than  gold,
anything less than   god.
i   have been yours since
we were fifteen,    i have
been     yours    since we
w e r e             f i f t e e n.

i am passing days with only
the slightest       misstep that
before would  have brought
me to            my           knees.

modest mouse tastes like you
and i wonder how you could
have left such a stain running
down my throat
down my right forearm
maybe i should just get the
color tattooed into my skin the
way it wants to be but would
it bleed into the marks
from her
and him
and him
did i bruise them the same way
do they walk through life with
my name etched into their
elbows or trailing down the
length of their spines or have
they covered it up with sweaters
and bandaids
what did i leave with you
besides the last remaining shreds
of my tattered sanity
is there any residue of my laugh
lingering on the curve of your
bottom lip or do you smell my
shampoo on your pillows
have you found my name
on you have you found my
name on you have you
found my name on you

rocket ships and
blooming flowers,
i feel as though i've
gargled with shampoo
but in a good way where
i'm fizzing from the

inside

                                     out,

all the way

up
my
throat

and through my nose. i
have been finding myself
in the cracked porcelain of
my shower, in his
laugh                                          
             ­                             lines,
in my mother's

smile             smile
smile

for me please. didn't
i used to love to be here
for a lens why would
i have ever hated my
own mouth?
there is so much
b e a u t y
in these curves and
cr ev ic es.
i am so proud to be
the owner of these

hands

and of these

hips

thank god i am back thank
god i am back

there is a softness in the willows aching with
your steps- aching to follow the curve of
your spine to the sharp edges of your
hips, aching to chase the scent that
lingers and trails behind you-
that until three days ago i
did not understand.
there is something
about that slight rise
to your lips as you lean
down over me even after i'm
sure i cannot stand anymore heat
heat heat but i'll take more as long as
you are willing to give it, as long as it means
i do not have to lose the sound of you in all
your actions and late night phone calls.

there is this   candle that i keep
in a box and i save it for nights
when i want to think   of  y o u,
when the summer air is too hot
a n d   i  can  imagine  that  you
would   have  turned  o u r   air
conditioning  up so high  t h a t
i would   have had  to put  on a
sweater     while    you stripped
downtonearlynothing.i wonder
if  we  would  have  had   those
gardens you talked about   or if
you would    have taught me to
tolerate beer. i usedto think you
were the  s o l e  orchestrator of
every sunset i had ever     seen,
that you  m u s t  have bartered
some  part  of   y o u r    soul  in
exchange for that laugh       you
had, that all of the absolute ****
i had gone through was simply
there  t o   l e a d   m e   t o  you.
but you did not love me     t h e
same way, you  d i d  n o t  love
m e     the       s a m e           way.

fifty-two sundays later and i
do not consider myself to be
someone who is healing but
someone who is recovered. it
still stings at the very bottom
of my lungs sometimes but i
no longer hate the areas of
my skin that you've touched.
i do not feel the fire of your
promises in my arms and i
can just barely recall your
laugh. did you ever think i
could have made it this far?

i have let you keep me up at night for
too long. there used to be a limit to what i
would allow myself to do- how much i would
allow myself to think of you, to remember your
temperaments and the sound of your footsteps-
but i think i've forgotten what and where that
line was. lately i've been scared to be another
placeholder, scared to get attached to someone
new, scared to understand someone else's hand
gestures. i used to love the way you could paint
our future with your fingertips across the air,
across my skin, across my skin.

******* how did you
make me never want
to be touched touched
touched please do not
look at me please do
not breathe near me i
used to crave hands
like they were homes
and i was traveling the
country but now i can't
imagine someone ever
putting their palms on
me or near me i've
been stopping to make
sure all the air intended
for my lungs has been
making it there but i'm
struggling with it every
day when will i be okay
when will i look at another
person and not try to find
you in their laugh lines
and unshaved face when
will i be sewn up from
the inside out i think you
ripped out all of my
stitching a long time ago

i have been trying to
lose you in his hands
but i think i am finding
myself there instead i
think i am finding
myself there instead

i don't want to love
you  i  just  want  to
sleep   next  to   you

it has been ten months three weeks
and five days   since   the last time i
spoke words that  were meant only
for your ears and i   am doing okay.

where you are a soft hum
in my chest he was a riptide,
a cheese grater swallowed
whole, the fifth sunburn
of the summer. you are
the breeze on a rainy
morning but i can't
love your hands the way
i did his why can't i love
your hands the way i did his

you do not fall at my
feet yet you make me
feel that i am golden.

god help me i want to believe
that i am      something worth
holding somethingworthgold
or   silver   something   worth
rippingthethreadsaround the
edges of your heart  i used to
believe i was the sun and   all
itssiblingsbutnow i am afraid
i  will  only   ever   b e   bones
s  t  r  e  t  c  h  e  d  andheldso
tightly under too pale s k i n  i
want to  wrap  my  thin  arms
around you   until you think i
am  t h e  holy land until your
two breaths to my one  are  in
s  y  n      c  o      p  a     t  i  o  n
until   we     are   whole   again

i
l  i  k  e
y o u r    ***
breath  and   t h e
way  your  hair  seems
to grow from you running
your fingers     through it
through   it   through   it
until your bones settle
in   m y       h a n d s.