I will miss you.
My dear wildflowers and wolves,
You have walked more miles
to reach the well than anyone I know.
You’ve earned it.
Drank from life and she has spoiled you in her senses.
Do not judge her
for her wits have no end
She is the water
and she travels alone, yet moves with the help of others.
Be gentle and welcoming.
Howl at the highest moon when she retreats and I will hear you…
Call you back
and stretch for the highest mountain to bring you in again.
I will miss you.
In the mornings she sits perched at the window.
Today, her view of the world is different than the days before.
This morning she sees a small child making breakfast in the kitchen.
The child moves about in a familiar slumber, eyes rubbed open and feet dragging in defeat. Even with his eyes half open, he navigates across the kitchen from site to site with complete trust, leaving every cabinet open behind him.
She smiles almost completely as a hummed laugh.
Processing the moment, she steps away from the outside of that window and wallows.
This window could have been.
But will never again.
The child in the window is a dream
Of what would have been if she had not drove off in the middle of the night. Had she not purchased that flight in the instinct of a fight; vowed to her freedom over a family.
Now, her world has no windows looking out.
I shouldn’t hate him,
I hardly knew him.
There was a time, sitting in his car
When I was sure he would kiss me
I imagined the entire thing:
An unbuckled seatbelt,
A slight twist
The slow slide of his hand under my chin
And his thin eyes
Growing thinner until closed.
I would lean in slightly,
Hands still crossed on my lap
And blush from his actions
You like me?
We would hold hands for two years
Stay over with each other sparatically
Have our parents meet
And soon after, have our first child.
The storms would be heavy
The beauty would be unending.
We would live in a foreign country for a year
And travel for a few more
Until settling down again
On our own.
But he never did lean in.
Dexterous, dirty hands
Of fear and illusions
Push me in the opposite direction.
Touch me with your calluses one last time before I shed new skin.
Let me read your life lines of color and class; time is running out.
Pieces of you entered through pieces of me and woke up from that dream.
And so we transition
Back to oral histories
Until our fingers forget symbols.
We will listen
And never mind the others
And their stories;
We will close ourselves in chambers that echo into soundbites.
Taps of repetition
On your frontal cortex
Until the pains are those you feel comfortable managing.
Do you hear the story
In your hand?
Truth is in an algorithm
And a skip.
Can you see me?
Unready for the years that will inevitably pass before I reveal
The true wrinkles of my frowns
Beneath the painted face
Beyond the tiny lens that always fell upon my face.
Did you capture that?
The nails cracked beneath my teeth
And the flames of burning rage nestled beneath my feet.
You hung the pretty picture of my nape upon the fridge
But for years never asked why I never cradled you in that ridge.
Did you catch the timid pause
Of my spinning in the grass?
Surely you saw the eyes
behind that piece of glass.
A little round light inside your eyes
Drowned in the mercy of my wants
Fever dances delightfully
Around the painful talks
When we slice ourselves thin
We remember our sin
But there is no deliverance.
Far from our home
Of your eyes
Where our moons met the
Heart of our suns.
Flip me to the cold side of my pillow
And assure me I am safe and sound.
Nothing goes wrong when you don’t leave your bed.
List all the positive words in your head
Unsettled in your settled home.
Catch a game, watch a show
Avoid the heavy truth:
Your bedrock falls below.
I was left unwanted.
The coldest forms of cold are only felt from up close. The tingling whispers of a one inch by one inch slap across my face through a tweet or new photo with her. Why didn’t you call for me when you had the chance? Why did you slip her name into my ear? If all the world was a stage, it’s clear I’ve landed right on my face. Laughed at and unwanted here. Land of dust and dirty lies by friends unfriendworthy. Who calls me here? Who let’s me stay?
Gain pleasure from my pain. I never want to see you again and I probably never will. Unless you curse my cursor with your charm and pull me into a spiraling heaven of clicks and clocks until I ask myself, where did I begin?
Tumble in the warm grass of your embrace
Rub the sunshine on my face,
hear my bellowing call for grace
and forgiveness to you.
Below all the rumbling of my skin
i still feel the warmth within –
Don’t leave me in his shoes.