I had to chop off my hair-
Rosemarie explains, a hint of France
and adobo sewn into her voice-
the stress, the worry, her
café in shreds, the storm left hands
unneeded- so instead- they pulled at roots.

with little in our pockets to offer,
we opened up our arms-
we laughed with Rosemarie
we held her close and we kissed
her sweet, leathered cheeks
and Lord above- I found her!
Don’t you see? I have no
need to dig caverns
and swim with dolphins
and FIND ME! FIND ME!
and heavens- can’t I hide from
your never ending opinions
of my steps? Left right and left left right?

remember when you believed in something
without the sole intent of proving
some obscure superiority?
I remember
I remember the patio
and who knows- John 1:16?
and silly jokes and deep Irish breaths
and no need to prove ourselves
with a fervent- I know! I know! I know!

You see, Lord - it’s all about Rosemarie
and her sweet plantains, her hidden
song, a dance of worry, a dance of-
I read in too far, sure,
but you made sure
my search
would find you
and I know
your language
and Lord knows
I know your kind-
and I needn’t prove a thing.
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