what amazes me most
is the unequivocal love
that i could never
(digging deep into my soul
tearing out my heartstrings
ripping apart my internal organs)
be able to replenish or replace
i could not even touch on
the amount of love
trapped within the lips
he presses against my cheek
let alone the endless ocean
buried hollowly in his chest
whose waves knock me to the shore
all breath lost to the salt.
the sun is high
young voices howl
the swing creaks
yet we lie here
i have no desire
to move from this bed,
to take my hand away
from your new goatee
oh how easy it is
to fall in love
with the morning
allowing us to stay
this is a dream
to wash away my nightmares
to feel my skin on your skin
to know you are mine
the sun is high
our plates are full
but there is time
always, for love
girls pose like little models,
even the baby smiles
underneath the bright flashes
(she’s not a baby anymore–
why must i be reminded
that five years
have slipped into oblivion?)
the clouds move in
on a Sunday afternoon,
a semi-quiet house
where they pretend to pick up
while we lie on the couch
reminiscing the twin bed
we shared so many years ago.
(with money clenched
like fists in pockets,
we borrowed furniture,
walked across ant-biting carpet,
washed dishes by hand,
roasted like oily chicken
in the absence of central air)
is it so different now,
our money spilling out
into the screens of tomorrow,
the cool air tickling our skin
as their tweeting songs
remind us of all we have seen,
all we have yet to see?
you will never say
the words that would pop
right out like a sucker gone sour
from the bitterness of my mouth.
instead you click shut the phone,
slide it into your pocket
of quiet reservations,
and tell him
with all the ease of a southern gentleman,
You’re coming home with us
and before the dawn has crept in,
before you’ve taken the girls to swimming,
even before balloon animals conjure
Spanish vocabulary from their mouths,
you remind me again
why
in so few words
yet so many gallant reactions
you are mine,
i am yours.
she’s shoeless behind me
and he carries a load
worth a thousand pounds in gold
we coast down to the beach
(four miles from door to shore)
pedal harder home in summer rain
that tickles our backs
as thunder threatens our ears
this is the Vittetoe Express
missing a link along the line
broken into bright patches of light
as three girls, two chairs, two floaties,
one giant Camelbak,
and the love of my life
carry us home
i forget (as we sit here,
our hamstrings on the boat’s spine)
the colors of the day
was the sky as blue as the jays
darting in and out of trees?
were the forests a mixture of
pine and deciduous greens?
your mouth reaches mine
like the palm of a blind man
cupping my lead home
all i can see now (day washed away)
are contrasting colors of night
silver, black, gray, and white
as sharp as noon in my sight
you press against me (i reach out)
clasping the colors in my hand
your movements trapping them in memory
black unblurrable jagged mountaintops
over silver unpretentious waves of lake
sky’s gray bosom bursting with rainclouds
beneath the full serving of white moon
i forget (breaths heavy with dew)
the colors of the day, see only
carved out images in colors of the night
Kentucky heat on a
new side of the state
(one that doesn’t give in
to early sunsets)
guides us up and down
hills on a windless evening
i grin,
back on the bike
after a week,
two whirlwind drives
six states over from
the mountains
as lush vines
thick-as-elephant tree trunks
and curvacious
nonchalant
southern hills carry us home
we stop
just shy of their house,
a perfect park
(playground and all)
distant trees
gripping the edges
of a burning red circle
that strikes
my sixteen-year-old heart
still beating lovingly
all these years later
that same sun
hidden by wisps of clouds
a bright mark of beauty
on the tired world
over the spires and forests
of Oxford
now reappears,
and i have no stairs to sit on,
no lonely walk home,
no desperate inquiries
in a dorm hallway
about what was missed,
but instead
my hands on my handlebars,
him standing beside me,
my sunset shared at last.
this is just to say
i have left
my bicycle on its rack
with the garage door open
you will walk out the door
drive to the store
and buy mint chocolate chip
that will sing in my mouth
take the bicycle down
electronically shut the garage
and remind me again
how i married perfectly at twenty.
if i could be half of who you are
the world would shine
an untouched wilderness of beauty
that no human could destroy
if i could be half
hearts held in hands would melt
kindness would seep through the air
like a feathery soft summer breeze
half of you
would be the full circle of the moon
lighting our way into the silver circle of dawn
the touch of newness fresh on our skin.
if i could be half of who you are
my nights would rest with seamless sleep
i would see the world for what it could be
never for what it is not.
i would be whole.
he posts the pics–
i see frowns,
utter unhappiness.
i wonder if it’s her wedding day.
is he vying for irony
or truly emotional,
having known her
better than i?
i won’t ask
as we morbidly look over her
eighty-nine-year-old skin,
as we put forth a fake eulogy
from the minister’s mouth,
as we place her in the tomb
beside her
fourteen-years-dead husband.
i will feel the hollowness
of every death,
every lonely old death
seep through the tears
of my mother and aunts,
wondering when the tables will turn,
when it will be their turn
mine
and if the radiant smile
from my wedding pic
will glow across the display,
words lost to all who enter?
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