i am willing to help you find all of
your pieces to buy you the tread
and  needle   you'll  need  once
you've gathered them     and i
promise   not to look or make
pained faces while you   put
yourself back together inthe
quiet of    y o u r  basement
bedroom   because i know
what  it means to feel like
you're missing a limb but
the ache is  coming from
somewhere          deeper
deeper                            ­
                           deeper
than you   ever could
have imagined your
chest could   sink it
is so scary to wake
up and not be sure
if your    lungs are
still  connected or
if you're going to
be able to get off
thecouchbecause
you've been too
sad to sleep  in
your  own bed
please    know
that i will not
forceyoutobe
h a p p y   or
give up your
past,     but i
will be here
if you decide
to do those things

i like that you make
me drive slow, that
you remind me to
take smaller steps,
that you do not hold
me like you're at all
worried i'll fall apart
in your grasp.

please take your
time with me,
please breathe
me in slowly.

you are still where i see
myself in thirty years -
your clouds and long
arms - but, god, i am at
least trying to find
something in someone
else until your joints
start speaking my name
with your steps again.

it took me so little time to learn
your syllables and cadences, to
memorize your  vowel sounds
and predict the next breath in
your  sentence  but  i  am
starting to forget and
it feels so good
feels so good
feels      so
good

i'm hope someday that
i will turn into a willow
but tell me how does one
grow up to be a tree?

i loved
you in
pajamas
and royals
shirts, black lungs
and black tongues and
windy mornings heading
to the train while you pulled
me along behind yourself in a
fury of cigarette smoke and sea
water stored in your fingers
i never expected us to be
anything to be apple pie
and an i love you from
your mouth in your
grandma's living
room i was
content with the
bit of you in chicago
i had swished between
my teeth i did not want
those coffee shop
goodbyes
i did not want those
coffee shop goodbyes

i am in love with the
messesstickysweetgum
glued to my windpipe
please destroy me with
promises and feed me
forever's straight from
the palm of your hand
because i will store them
when you have given
up already and moved
on i swear i will still
hear them rumbling
from under my bed after
you are long gone

i wonder
how you would
feel if you knew
that i have fallen
for someone else,
someone who holds
me like my hands are
made of porcelain and
my heart of crystal,
someone who smells like
winter and cigarettes and
wind, someone who looks at
me like he knows how many
times i have traveled the earth
to find him. i wonder if you
want me to be happy.

you are sea salt and pine
needles, the lingering scent
of cigarettes and my shampoo.
i am used to being stuffed full of
an image of who people wished i
was but you simply take each
piece of me like it is more
magnificent than the
last, like i am
somehow
made
of
something
more than skin
and bones and
aching lungs.

i miss your drunken
"i love you"s   please
just    c o m e    back
i'm     starting       t o
forget    what    your
hands feel l i k e  i'm
startingtoforgetwhat
your hands   feel like

(I)
god i don't know if we'll ever
match up quite like we did then
when you were just skin and a
pair of boxers under my hands
and you smelled like cold
chicago air

(II)
i packaged up
my heart after
the last time, after
him, and i was trying to
mail it to myself but i think
some part of it got mixed up
with the cd i sent you so did it
end up at your doorstep did
you put it in your pocket
did you slip it in an
envelope marked
"RETURN TO SENDER"
because if you do not
want it i would like
it back

though i  k e e p    thinking i should
be    kinder, i should care more, i
should give more but h o w do i
do that when i give    from the
inside out, reach all the way
down to the      bottom   of my
stomach and    dig  out anything
anything anything     that might be
of use or want until   i   am    scraped
raw and uncontentingly           empty.
but if you want more i will   f i n d  it.
i will     stretch my arm further, i will
pull out every     inch   of whatever is
left in there if you need it that  badly.

it smells like
chicago and deep
breathsofyouthaticould
not get enough of,     l i k e
a thanksgiving spent playing
with your hair     while you took
a nap on your grandma's      couch,
like  exploring   your   mouth  on  top
of the parking garage on black friday
between  my two shifts at work, like
telling you goodbye  in my favorite
coffee shop while you drank your
black tea and made promises
promises   promises   that
even then i knew you
could never keep.

you built a house across the
street from my apartment
on the roof of the parking
garage where we shared
part of your last hours in
this town. i asked you if i
could make your space our
space but you shook your
head, did that squinty eye
thing i have come to love,
said "no, gorgeous, not yet"

i am an expert at
unrequited love.
i like to eat it for
breakfast in the
early morning
light of my
kitchen with a
spoonful of sugar
to help it go down
easier.

i swear i  felt     y o u



deep


in                          my
chest      before i met
you, like all the time
i  thought   i     w a s
staggering on      for
him i        was really
justheadedtoyou, to
where my feet never
lose            their grip
and the  ends of  my
fingers  won't forget
what your  face feels
like    in   the earliest
hoursofthe morning.
you   h a v e   tied    a
string around        my
lungs    a n d    trailed
it all the   way  across
the ocean with     you,
looped your promises
every twenty miles or
so along the  way so i
have  no choice but to
follow you to find out
where they     end and
w h e r e    we    begin.

i have tried to build a home inside myself,
one of iron and molten lava and red hot
brick,  but you have snuck your way
through my sealant and made
yourself a space in the very
center of my being.

t h e      s u n       i s
about    to       come    up
where  you are   and i miss the
morning  grouchiness  that  comes
before your first cigarette of the day,
the   smell  of  my  shampoo   in  your
hair,  your  sleepy  face  buried  into
every warm crevi­ce of   m y   body

i
keep
thinking
you   should
be    taking    up
spaceinmyapartment,
claiming a side of the bed
and the couch, getting    up   in
the middle of the night for a glass
of water. becauseyoumake sense here
in the  soft  afternoon  light  of my living
room, in my  hands, in  my  heart. it's like i
had   been  running  for   so  long  that  i  had
forgotten how to   stop   my legs until you came
along, until you reminded me of what it was like
to           pull               air               through           the
e  n  t  i  r  e  t  y          o  f          m  y        l  u  n  g  s
and not just into the first  two  inches, until you
told me that you think i can be doing so much
more- that i deserve  a  life  bigger  than the
city limits of this missouri town. you are
endless possibilities and unfathomable
potential,   the  slow  simmer    to my
constant  movement.  please don't
stop loving my weak arms and
the heart i have    patched to
my   sleeve.  please    don't
forgettocomebacktome.

i love that your
hands have touched so
many things- rivers and
valleys and canyons -that
you have made sure the
earth is not your stranger.
please pretend i am the
streets of madrid or the
stone walls of paris.
please know my skin
the way you know how
our planet sighs during
all her seasons. please
love my rivers, my
valleys, my canyons.

and while you were
a willow he is an oak,
a redwood, a maple,
a sequoia- the mightiest
tree- standing humbly
and unassuming in my
background until i
stumbled over one of
his roots and decided
to follow them back to
find leaves that were
so sweet, so smooth,
so familiar on my tongue.

i like your nicotine
breath, a black lung
frenzy drawn in
and out at the base
of my throat

i hope someday someone fixes you
(not fixes you,  really, that  word is
too  harsh)    i  hope  someone  will
love you enough for    you    to love
them back, for those gaping   holes
in your stories,inyour chest,inyour
futurethatyoualreadyhaveplanned
out to be sewn up tight and secure.
i hope  someday   you  let  someone
help  you  g e t  your  ****  together,
that you want to make it work     so
badly that you grovel, that you beg,
that you spit  your  guts  out  on the
sidewalk outside their house just to
prove    your point. i hope someday
y   o   u   '   r   e          h   a   p   p   y   .

i've started to put myself
back together with the pieces
i have left sitting around in my
apartment and while some of the
original sections are missing it seems
they've been replaced with something
like sugar, something like sunshine,
something like me with a slightly
warmer tint

i shot off rockets into the sky months ago
that burst into words to  remind me to
keep going     keep breathing     keep
holding my heart   higher than the
river of   y o u r   hands that was
flooding down  m y  street and
threatening   to   break  down
my  door.  i  put all  my  best
pieces in aboxandsentthem
to myself    (cc: my closest
friends)   and i am ready
to get them back, to put
my    h e a r t   on   my
sleeve where i have
always  kept it,  to
have you   f e e l
from across this
town that you did
not break me, did not
damage   me,  did   n o t
destroy my gumption or my
eagerness to take on the world,
did not make me into something
i am not.   i am a    worrier but    a
w        a        r         r        i         o         r
and  i  will  not  stop  going  until  my
head is quiet and my hands are still.
and  this  thing you  did  to me- this
supposedly life altering thing- will
just be a soft  reminder  of  only
the  climb i  made  to get  me
back    to    where    i    am.

i said goodbye to the first
part of you in Lawrence
thirteen days ago walking
pastthatantiquemall.itrailed
my fingers on its brick and
thought of you reclaiming
my heart in its basement
and i did not want to turn
into dust, did not feel like
melting into the nearest
gutter. i simply took my
hand from the stone,
continued telling
jillian about how
they closed our
hookah bar,
breathed
the early
fall air.

you were a
month for
healing, for
becoming
whole again

there used to be this
seam running through
a cushion on my couch
and i picked it picked it
picked it out of nervous
habit, mostly, and people
were starting to notice it.
i borrowed some thread
from my mom yesterday
and sewed it up, finally.
it felt a little like closure.
it felt a little bit like
goodbye, ryan.

and that worn out
spot- third rib down,
two inches to the
right- where i used
to tuck away all your
beautiful words, that
i cleaned out, scraped
out, scrubbed out,
bleached, rinsed,
repeated until there
was no more lingering
after burn of the things
that used to call it
home has finally started
to cool. i am waiting
for my wings to
remember that they
had a purpose before
you, that they do not
need to be licked or
pampered before they
are functional again.
i am a hot air balloon,
a lily pad, a new moon.
******* for ever having
made me think i could
be anything less.

god, all this air is
so thick. i've been
dormant for too long
i fear. i have not hit you,
hated you, told you how
badly you ****** me up
to your face yet but lord
you did. you turned me
into somekindof outline
with blurred edges and
creases that just won't
flatten. i wanted to be
yellow andgreen and
red comingoutofmy
seams but you took
that all away from
me, you disgusting
excuse for a human.

i've been
filling
myself
with sand
with sand
with sand

hush now
how can
you stand
the noise
you've put in
our ears please
just come
home

breathe,
breathe.
you are
flakes of
silver and
copper tubing
and lilies at
sunrise. do
not be afraid
of the thickness
of your words
or the quake
of your laugh.
you are more
than the confines
of tongues that
have tried to
define you, more
than words spoken
into your neck.
you have a century's
old soul and the
things that have
written themselves
into the backs of
your hands are
just markers for
this lifetime.
you are okay.
breathe,
breathe.

and while you may have
known my favorite poet
and what i watch when
i'm sad you did not know
my heart, did not
understand its cadence,
never took the time to
listen to the way it
whispered your name
into the outermost layer
of my lungs so that i
could breathe it out
when i spoke to you.

today i touched
trees and smelled
leaves and took
a nap with my
dog and my mom
told me, "meg,
you're going to
be just fine."