I find it beautiful
all the ways you can
express how much
you love someone.
1. "Put your seatbelt on."
2. "Get some sleep."
3. 3 am text: are you awake?
4. "Did you get home safe?"
5. "Watch your step."
6. "How are you feeling?"
7. "I listened to your favorite song."
8. "Let me drive you home."
9. "Please be safe."
10. "Do you need company?"
Open your ears,
and pay close attention.
Because my dear I'm sure,
that somebody out there
loves you.

Memories with you
are like little shards of glass,
poking and prodding at my heart.
Each ***** a reminder,
of how you used to feel.
I need you,
but you're nowhere to be found.
I miss the way things used to be.
I miss you.

The exhaustion hurts
but not as bad as you
when you’re whittling away at my bones
telling me, ‘it’s almost over’
‘you’re so strong’
‘stick in there’

News flash:
it’s no longer sticking in there
when all you are is stuck
in a choice between something that
could be worth it
or throwing it all away for pride

Pride
something I never knew I had
before you
something you taught me
in the way that you lived
the way that you smiled
the way that you laughed
moved, stood, felt

Confidence flowed through you
like it was in some special air you breathed
you amazed me
inspired me, saved me

And I thought that talking to you
would be a relief
but I quickly realized
talking to you doesn't mean I get you back

My heart is stuck sticking in there
because of the uncertainty of your journey
and the only way I could be sure you still love me
is by making sure you think I don't anymore

h.s.

I notice how soft your breathing is
and imagine your heartbeat gets fast when I kiss you
how lonely the tips of your fingers are
when they aren’t touching my skin
and I imagine how nebulous your thoughts must be
when I’m whispering in your ear

It’s been two months since I’ve last seen you
and all I can think about
is if you’re thinking of me
I dream of having you back with me for the rest of time
but eight months to the rest of our lives
has your head spinning
doesn’t it, dear?

The storm taught me how to dance
while you were at sea
so that I would have something to show you
when you got back
you see, I would try to write you something beautiful
but I’m afraid I don’t know enough words

I freeze because I realize
every emotion I’ve ever felt is carried in his laughter
and all he has in me is a title
and something to come back to

and I’m strung up here wondering
if you’re wondering about me
when I know all you’re thinking about
is where you’re at
and when you’re getting home

h.s.

and i am eleven again
feeling like tomorrow
is a couple yesterday's ago
smothered in cayenne pepper
hot enough to take off taste buds
and tonight i am eating a meal
only worth burning
it tastes like my parents anniversary
it tastes like a zinfandel
left on the counter too long
it's a bad story, see
there's no silverware
'cause my mom sold it
to keep the lights on
and somewhere in heaven
somebody in a suit
doing commentary
on this fiasco
is telling someone else
in a suit that
"you have to eat love with your hands"
so we sit, four plates on the table
for the two of us
my brother's long gone
dad's even further away
& he's not the one who's buried
i carry both their names like anchors
that i cannot unmoor from
while she looks at the empty table
and says something about the news
she says something else
but she's not talking
we aren't proud of this, see
my dad likes to wax his car
he's proud of it
and my mom says
she sees a lot of him in my hands
says, i touch the things i find
like they didn't belong
to people sleeping in the ground
she says i touch photo albums
the same way-
you know,
i never used to believe
that history could repeat itself
not until i could
fast forward seventeen years
and still wake up to smoke alarms
how i would go into our kitchen
to find it empty
and the dinner smoldering
& my mother in her bedroom
looking through family photos
like it's a just another summer day
and the sirens are just the birds
i don't ask, i never say a word
in this moment
i am an archeologist
afraid to dig up the past
cause history repeats itself-
you see
my brother is dead
and my father is gone
they have been for some years now
and my mother
sometimes forgets
and sets their place at the table
like they're still here
and in the confusion
ends up ankle deep
in pictures of how it used to be
she let's dinner burn
and douses it in red pepper
hoping i won't know the difference