Garage

One night after
a day of
let downs and
all the rest

I parked my car
in its spot;
let the engine run.

I couldn’t
step out
or turn the
engine off.

You came running
down the stairs
to my door.

You reached in,
turned off the car,
guided me out.

I thought maybe
that could be
enough

Fleeting
yet powerful
moments of love.

Royale (clarity)

you consistently
took pictures
of me and of us
and I'd smile and 
you'd lean your head 
towards my own

I look at the ones 
from the Cove and 
the summer before

your eyes are 
the clearest blue

I always thought
they would  
reveal, open

I thought they'd 
let me in

Opaque 

we are together
and not
in every photograph 

and I held on
waiting for the clear
imagining the moment 
you'd love me enough 

The clarity 
was never in 
the blue of your eyes
or in our tent on the Isle

it was always here
in my knowing
that we were temporary
fleeting

it's why i worked 
tirelessly to resist it
to make us permanent

but this wasn't 
some challenge
or journey of worth

this was simply 
two people
intertwined
in timing and love

you were satisfied,
content 

and I 
couldn't handle
the truth in 
the opaqueness 
the reality

that was right in front of me
 

Withdrawal interlude

Four days before the third month
I hear your voice.
We talk on the phone.
I shoot up - my heart fills.

We catch up.
I tell you the good.
You tell me the in between.

You abruptly end the call.
The withdrawal begins again.
I fall into my own tears.

The process of grief resets itself.

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