“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.
Tag: femalewriter
Choice
Does it always
come to this?
fire and ice
Blue springs or
Rainy canals
the dancing flames
blue reflections
they revel in
their changing
views
Let the answer exist
in the ampersand.
Until then
I’ll find my
joy
in long walks
coffee after dinner
I’ll pick
mulberries
and
listen to his
singing
I’ll run, steady
until the answer
reveals itself.
You see -
Both
forces
have the capacity
to burn.
Appetizer
"Can we table this conversation?"
He asks.
Two glasses of red wine
rest between us.
He plays with the stem
with his stable hand.
I do not respond.
I know he cannot
answer what
I want answered.
I look at him,
overcome with
a sorrow
that the blue of his eyes
does not calm.
"This is the first serious
relationship
I've experienced."
He continues,
"I do not want
my life to feel
settled yet."
As I watch his
lips move
I hear
a different narrative
an unsaid message.
He takes a bite
of the appetizer
in front of us.
It's come before
we've ordered
the main course.
I watch as he
enjoys its taste.
He takes another bite.
"What should we order next?"
He asks, excitedly.
Next?
I want to ask.
Isn't this enough?
Burn
There is pain
at the center of my chest
it reaches for cold,
anything to soothe the fire
you had no intention of lighting.
Tell me,
what is the antidote
to loneliness?
To rejection?
You do not reach out.
It hurts more than if
you’d simply write
to tell me
I am not the one for you.
I am burning, burning,
don’t you see?
Moments and meaning and time
swirling around,
wasted.
Wasted on
thinking of a love
that never began
or lasted
long enough
for it to burn.
Language Barrier
In Portuguese
you describe
the point in your life
when you decided
to free yourself
from ties and commitment,
accountability.
In English
you said,
“Yes, I’m open.”
In your language,
in your truth,
you come to terms
with your spirit,
split in two
half existing elsewhere
the other seeking joy, here.
A vagabond has no home.
Potentially aimless,
leaving ruin in some places.
Excitement in others.
A vagabond cannot hold
what I’m asking to be held.
In your language, you proclaim,
“Eu ainda estou levando esta vida.”
Vagabundeando.
I reach for you in my own language.
Your answer is a mixture of
words I do not understand.
"Come here,"
I want to say.
Make a home in my chest,
have adventures with me.
You choose something else,
a different life.
A different person.
You choose everything but me.
I am no place for a vagabond.
I may be searching
but this heart has roots.
I’ll look to the south
You are
your favorite authors
your beloved
literary characters.
I dive to understand
your mind
and come up
breathless and more confused.
I seek refuge among
the clues you’ve given me
in memories a decade old.
I review the
drunken truths you let
slip that evening.
I only get you
when your guard is down,
broken in with substances
meant to numb you.
I just hope I find you
before you meet the same fate
as the characters you look to
to fill your lonely heart.
Basket case
“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket,”
her mind instructs.
“But it’s such a nice basket!”
the heart pleads.
Trauma
A distressing event
a disruption
unsettling.
A disconnection
from the experience
of self,
of others.
How can one
learn to settle
in a body
that's proven
fallible
in a world in which
we so desperately
seek certainty.
Is it possible
I want to know what you look like
without these projections
cast on you
like a costume.
I want to see your face
in the light of day.
I want to see you as you are.
The Restless Crescent 