I like that I will live forever
inside your songs, that you
will perform them every
weekend and record them
onto cds. And when you
sing them you will see my
face as your eyes close for
the verses, feel my fingers
run up your arms as you
play that riff, just like they
did on your couch on the
warmest night of the
summer while Boy Meets
World played on the tv in
the background. You
whispered, "Do something
cute again" into my hair
and I wiggled my toes on
your leg, watched you
write out
chorus
bridge
plays guitar handsomely
while you hummed a song
that didn't have words yet
until I fell asleep. I wonder
how long you'll keep playing
that one.

and it was not
love at first
sight, but
it was love
at first chin stroked
by your thumb,
at first soft
kiss
in the middle
of your living
room, at first
morning waking
up with your face
buried in my neck

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.

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.

i just wanted to be a vine
growing up between your
lungs so that when you
breathed you would feel
me there. not like a
tightness, no, but simply
brushing on the very
edges of your laugh or
rough sentences.

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

icouldneverquite
get you down on
paper. iknewyour
favorite band and
favoritemovie and
what you sounded
like when you slept
but ididnotknow how
to put the thumping of
yourheart againstthe rain
or the gravel of your voice
echoing in that soft spot right
below my ear into words. there
were gold ribbons streaming
from your hands always
always (weren't  there)
at least i think there were.
i only painted your outline once
in orange on a piece of cardboard
but it didn't fill my apartment the
way your laugh did so i covered
it with yellow rosebuds and
threw it in the dumpster
on my way to work.

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?

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.

but
i
like
the
way
my
skin
feels
under
your
hands

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.

because my lungs are
becoming your most
common punching bag
without you being
aware. I don't think
you're as much in this
as you originally
wanted to be.

I could have loved you like
a meadow
(forgiving and resilient,
fluttering with your every
word)
but you only wanted a small
amount of solice from
the wreck in your body and
your heart couldn't be
big enough
(couldn't be
soft enough)
for everything I was
willing to hand over to
it.
I don't think I'll ever stop
trying to give every piece
of me to people who
aren't ready to take it but if I have
to continue I would prefer to give
all of it to you. I'm so
scared
to
settle
but, god, if I'm
going to settle anywhere
I would want it to be
wherever you are.

I'm
s  o
sure
that every
bit of my life
has   led   up   to
me  with  y o u,  that
we   are   not   merely
two  beings  colliding
in the cosmos. It  will
always  be  you  that I
stumble on for, whose
words  I'm  sure could
cure        even          my
brokenness,   who will
always be in control of
the    t h u m p i n g   of
my heart. And I am not
a s h a m e d    of    that.

I
think
I lost you
somewhere
between your
mouth

and

your



                                            

                                          heart.

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.

it's comforting to know that
someday my skin will
forget what it feels
like to touch
yours

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

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'll never
tell you about
how at night
sometimes I lace my fingers
together
and I pretend
they belong to someone
else.

This does not hurt
as much as I had
thought it would.
Although you ran
a bulldozer over
my midsection, I am
somehow still breathing,
somehow still getting up
and moving, because
what else can I do
except go on?

I'm so
sorry
to have
loved
you this
much.

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.

it's just

that I hope macaroni and
cheese makes you miss me
and that you'll be downtown
and drive by my building and
see my car and feel an ache in
your chest because you are not
allowed inside anymore and
that your hands can barely
play all those songs you wrote
about me at your shows and
that the book on astronomy I
gave you glares at you from
the shelf and that no one will
kiss you like I did, no one will
make you shiver like I did, no
one will light a fire inside of you
like
I
did.

******* 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