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.
Tag: goodbye
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.
Avoidance
I stay busy
so I don’t think of
your empty touches,
your silence.
I fill my time
to learn what
healthy means.
There are some mornings
I turn off my alarm
because I can’t
sustain the busyness.
I succumb to thoughts of you
and I think of how to
be busy again.
Last
If that was our last embrace,
I wish I held you
longer
closer
breathed in your scent
felt your skin against mine.
I would have gotten
out of my head
and into
the last moment
with you.
Let go
I understand the notion of letting you go
but theory doesn’t release
the tension in my chest
the way I look for you in videos
my friends post.
I understand
the necessity of leaving
and there’s a difference
between a physical separation
and the emotional untangling
of wanting and needing.
And when they say your name
I’ll lean in
to hear you in their voices
to see you in their eyes.
I won’t ask about you;
I’ll listen for news
I’ll think of you
until the wanting
no longer feels as good
as the idea of you.
What’s its shape
“How’ve you been?”
A dull stab to a stubborn wound.
I share that 12 hours of my day are fulfilling.
I work,
I problem solve,
I learn.
I withhold the rest of it.
The aimless hours
ruminating
on the could have beens
the losses.
It's when I'm alone the fear spreads.
Most days the void is tangible.
It’s shapeless.
I want to label it to know it fully.
I’d know its name and greet it warmly.
Loss spreads.
Grief grows.
I think too often of the last conversation.
The ending.
And when it all feels too deeply rooted
I'm reminded
that the anxiety will find
a different power source.
The sadness will attach to something new.
I begin to make peace with the idea
that I can still have you
in sadness and grief.
In honoring the memories.
And so I'll wait
for the days in which
my heart feels less a part of your own.
When I stop visualizing
moving in unison.
Until then, they'll ask,
“How are you?”
“I’m doing great, thanks for asking,”
My heart,
my heart, though.
My heart won’t know
it’s own shape for some time
The Restless Crescent 