For name's sake
his name is Eden and
Father, when he touches me I feel found
He makes me feel maybe God is a writer
who leaves answers in braille;
the raised marks, the scars, the freckles on our skin.
The lines where Eden's clavicles meet, they
look like a crucifix.
Father, well I've never seen a light whiter
than I saw in a green pasture
at midnight with Eden
above me.

there is a crack running the length of Main Street;
when it rains the crack fills and flows like a river.
Tonight it is raining
Oil slicks on the road reflect street lamps;
artificial Northern Lights.

He hadn’t paid his power bill, so
he leads me through his apartment by the light on his phone.
In his bedroom I see the mess even in the almost dark.
His bed is a mattress on the floor;
sheets barely cover it.
He lets go of my hand, pulls his shirt over his head.
The light flickers as the phone battery runs low;
he puts the phone away.
He undresses me.
In the dark I stand, naked, in front of him.

But then I reach for this zip along my side.
The zip begins under my arm and runs the length of my torso.
There is another along the length of either leg — hip to ankle.

I step out of my skin.

A river runs out of me like the one in the crack along the sidewalk.

I’m much smaller now
                                                  much more myself.

I think about her fingers gripping your back
I hear nails on a chalkboard
You whispering to her in the dead of the night,
move over, love, you’re hogging the blanket
White noise in my ears
my head hurts, your voice rattles inside and ricochets off the walls of my mind
I stop hearing you after a while
The walls are padded now
You are only in my head these days
I’d rather have you hurt than have you nothing
It was worse than a screaming, breathless argument
When I kissed and kissed and touched
but you did not move
I could not move you, could no longer make you feel
No matter how tightly I closed my eyes
I could still see how little you loved me
No matter how hard I tried not to grip your fingers like I was falling from a cliff
I still felt your hand cramping from the effort to stay in mine
I will never say that you did not try
You used to believe in things like magic and yourself
Yet, here you are saying, ‘love doesn’t really matter at all, does it?’
and I made you this way
My sharp edges cut you
Someone someday standing where I once stood
She’ll smile like it’s second-nature, and have a laugh that isn’t forced
She’ll taste like me but less bitter, with hair far softer, her speech not course