I so badly wanted it
to be you.
It was temporary.
We were, that is.
That made it
no less real.
I sure did
like to pretend,
though.
I held on
just in case
i was proven
wrong.
Tag: spilled ink
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
quiet
I like him best while he plays his strings kisses my neck existing quietly, together Is that fair when so much of his energy is loud and bold sometimes I think the quiet of the last two years changed me even when I resented it.
Hands
I left you in July, started again in August. I’ll spend September wondering how you are. You sat there holding my hands, “I don’t want to let you go,” You implored, as if you could not see that I no longer knew the hands in my own. I knew you no more or no less than I had the July before or the one before that. “I miss that special bond,” He said to me, a week after. What bond is silent, I wanted to ask. What bond exists only in two laptop screens and a tv monitor a late night cuddle, a quick- paced walk. Perhaps you did know me more than I knew you. Maybe I let you know me. The me that left and rose from your bedroom floor knows not of how or why two years from the day I asked for promises changed everything I thought I wanted.
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.
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.
She calls me tesoro
I help care for my Nanna.
My father and uncle hold her
as my mother and I clean her.
She sits and cries,
“You should not see this, Marisa.”
“I’m happy to be here Nanna. I need to be.”
“I want to kiss you.”
I lean in, place
my forehead against her lips.
We sit like this for a moment.
The quiet is treasure,
just as she’s called me her’s
all my life.
And just like that,
the moment flees.
The chaos begins again.
Love in its many forms.
Suffering, too.
April 1st
You share you haven’t
written
in two months.
I’m startled at the idea
that you’ve not reflected
or been struck
by inspiration
No
note
not even a poem
or paragraph
while I’ve written about you
most days.
I’ve written about you
since the night
I thought
you were something other
than who you turned
out to be.
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.
The Restless Crescent 