My father has always looked through a wide frame lens He sees the flaws and the work wrapped delicately in regrets and pride He watches as the sun rises and falls from the center of my chest He sees ocean waves in the irises of the eyes he passed to me (he takes me driving to see the super moon in the fall) there is no facade or performance with and for him He sees it all and offers no wavering, conditional affection. “If anything happened to you, my world would shatter.” My father gave me the experience of feeling precious. My father taught me attachment. and as I grew and moved, I looked back to witness the ways and times I’ve loved and been loved and despite the depth and authenticity, nothing stuck or lasted longer then what was enough. And here I am again at the precipice of a new moon, a waxing crescent a love that is tangible yet fragile but to him, it comes and goes and he fears its illusive state and i fear its capacity to crumble - it isn't consistent yet he isn't consistent, yet. Maybe I'm not, either. This process and indecision changes the ways I feel held. I don't feel special. Not in his eyes, yet. I don’t want the waning and waxing with anything related to the love he has to offer. Give me the wide lens frame, the sunrise and sunset, the ocean waves. Synchronize with your head and heart. give me the full moon or nothing at all.
picture
I walked the stairs to your place using the key i let myself in like nothing had changed. I dropped some things off in what feels like a final exchange I walked through the rooms and saw the picture of us taken off the wall A part of me knew that would happen, eventually and I'm not sure how I would have felt if you'd left it hanging I moved to your cupboard noticed a card I had given you 7 months in I read the promise I made that at the time you could not return I turned around and noticed the picture of us on the floor. The same floor that held us the night we ended It feels more final, now solidified here in this image on the floor and the empty wall I now know that my first time in Amsterdam with you will be my last the picture is the last piece of the puzzle that we never finished because I didn't have all of the pieces and neither did you - at least, not ones that fit my own but we tried. I know we did. Those two people in that picture did their best and grew apart loved deeply and tried again I hope you take the picture off the floor, store it in a place where one day you can look back and smile and know that on that balcony we laughed we had hope we loved.
Light change
I don’t know
if it’s from
feeling lightheaded
or grief’s release
But everything
looks different,
now.
“Should I come to you?”
He asks, concerned.
“Not tonight,”
I reassure.
Tonight
I’ll
sleep with his
poems.
Tonight,
I mourn.
Fireworks
I wanted to
write
in biting
verse
Asking about
your party
and my friends
in attendance
I’d make some
metaphor about
Independence Day
I wanted to
lash out
and ask
how the space
felt as you
hosted.
I’m still angry -
I’m still grateful.
I’m not going
to maneuver my
schedule around
your’s, anymore.
And I won’t
reach for you
in drunken texts
or in venomous
poems.
In the end
all it is
is missing you
and us
and the summer
before
And if I can’t
let go
I hope you can.
I hope you find
better
I hope it’s
more than
fireworks.
Oh,
didn’t I tell you?
I repel
the explosions
and the smoke
Sometimes
I hate them.
The empty sky
and hidden stars
once the show
ends.
But you’re
not them
and you’re
no performance
You’re sun
in February
and lightning
in June.
You are joy.
“How was your party?”
I’ll ask, pointedly.
“Did you see fireworks?”
And if you ask if I
saw them, too,
I’ll nod and smile
in the same
restrained way
you smile at me, now.
“Sure, I saw them,”
knowing damn well
I didn’t even look.
settle
next to the rubble sits a leaf blower some supplies, unfinished wood I reach for the tools but do not know where to start i pick the most destructive and hear its force as I watch the sawdust fly this construction zone was never intended for remodeling or renovation it needed demolished. Now i watch, holding too many tools to carry and a machine I have no business operating I set it down the engine still running on high I walk away. I have to let the dust settle.
Overused
It’s the pendulum,
swinging one way
and returns again
Back and forth
gravity keeps its
repeating patterns
oscillating between
doubt and knowing
Kinetic to potential
and back again
until gravity wins
I’m the one receiving
the force
I’m the one asking
for change
and staying the same
Tensions
decide how long
this period
will last.
Swing me,
I want to say.
Do what you
must and do it
until the stillness
feels so empty
I have to
do it again.
Is the metaphor
correct?
Maybe it’s me at the ends
and not in the middle
Maybe I’m both.
fly
when the words
evade
or i lose myself
in the detailed tangles
of the other's
webs
i often wonder
if it's enough
to witness
if it can satisfy
to say,
“I am here.”
I ask them to feel it all
and often
do not have the
the strings to
weave a foundation
that takes away
the pain
(I want to catch them)
Is this the illusion?
As I listen, speechless,
it may look
like they're falling
Do you see it now?
It's clear, now
when doubt
transfigures
to an almost
ancient knowing
It isn’t a net
that’s needed
but wings
Split
“Stay present,”
He advises.
Lovingly;
Selflessly
“I don’t want
you split between
two places.”
I want to laugh
You see,
you’ve been with
me, in the
mountains of
West Virginia.
Along the shores
of the
Great Lakes.
I saw you in
the mouth of
Mammoth Cave.
When the fireworks
reflected in
the D.C. waters.
I haven’t left
your hometown
in weeks.
“I’ll do my best,”
I assure him.
I’ve been trying
to untangle my
feet
wrestle them into
one place
For over a year.
Overflow
The universe
must laugh
with twisted
knowing
It should have come
as no surprise -
this was built
on bricks of pain
amongst fleeting moments
of Hope.
Existing always
was a desire -
A sort of
understanding
that I would
be here, grow here,
once I stood
on solid ground.
I held out my hands;
“I’m ready,”
I promised.
She smiles
visualizing a
story
I see it
in greys and blues
and know not
how it ends.
As I watch,
my arms become
so full I
lose my balance.
Faltering, I
look to the shore
and ask for guidance.
“You asked,”
She smiles.
“And so you received.”
spotlight
the scene was static and as you approached the only light left was (on) you “You’re the dancer,” he introduced, smiling. “Yes,” I managed. I look back at that moment, frozen. It melts as the light transforms into a spotlight Make music, I want to say to you. watch me dance for you.
