To Now See
The narratives we tell ourselves as children give us
nightmares or sing us to sleep.
And I see you
wild innocent thing
who believes meekness
is gold and dreads what
in you
people see.
So listen
hear me now
there is no shame
in mistakes
to break open
parts of you
most desperate,
hungry
(I accept you)
okay.
I Don’t Call You
i don’t call you
on your birthday
or even text—
no card, no cake,
no stretching out
across the great divide
of years and time and space
as if i could shorten it,
as if i could pull it
like a loose
thread on a sweater
and watch it
unravel:
stitches wandering
every which
way to get to
his heart.
The Choice
It all begins with an idea.
Nothing is more satisfying than stretching
arm overhead
back lengthening
toes and limbs reaching
for air and
wondering how much farther
can we go
if this feels so wonderful
the awakening of senses long
deadened
from playing it safe.
To Build a House that Stands
I want to make sense of what doesn’t
as if,
if I let my mind roam
around for a bit,
cling to its collecting of all the forgotten things
they will matter—
I will make them matter.
I am desperate to make them matter.
As if fragments of mental pictures
depend on me to sort them,
make sense of chaos
and I can’t
always make it work.
And this is the moment
when all falls away,
when I mourn the death of possibility
when we all belonged:
working together to create a home.
Exit
It is a monster in the dark places
we think we don’t go
but we live there, don’t we
the bones of our flesh
rotting until we turn,
light on our faces,
and leave (our crouched posture
ready to spring and creep
in shadows of decay)
and take one step forward
toward what is strange
and must be good:
a broad open space without
walls and lack and
competition for love.