Daphne Gottlieb: "Why Things Burn"

why things burn

My fire-eating career came to an end
when I could no longer tell
when to spit and when

to swallow.
Last night in Amsterdam,
1,000 tulips burned to death.

I have an alibi. When I walked by
your garden, your hand
grenades were in bloom.

You caught me playing
loves me, loves me
not, metal pins between my teeth.

I forget the difference
between seduction
and arson,

ignition and cognition. I am a girl
with incendiary
vices and you have a filthy never

mind. If you say no, twice,
it's a four-letter word.
You are so dirty, people have planted

flowers on you: heliotropes. sun-
flowers. You'll take
anything. Loves me,

loves me not.
I want to bend you over
and whisper: "potting soil," "fresh

cut." When you made
the urgent fists of peonies
a proposition, I stole a pair of botanists'

hands. Green. Confident. All thumbs.
I look sharp in garden
shears and it rained spring

all night. 1,000 tulips
burned to death
in Amsterdam.

We didn't hear the sirens.
All night, you held my alibis
so softly, like taboos

already broken.

close

Daphne Gottlieb: "Everything She Asks Of Me."

everything she asks of me

So, I’m dating Marilyn Monroe. We’re living together, actually. Right now, she’s sitting on the white couch with the black stains, watching me write this. What are you writing? she wants to know. A love letter, I say.

She’s eating grapes. She’s really into them right now. One by one, she sucks them into her mouth with a little pop, crushes them between the whitest of teeth with the gentlest of violence. What’s the opposite of fruit? she wants to know.

I don’t know, I say. Meat? She purses her lips, considering. No, she says. I don’t think there is an opposite of fruit.

We are both girls, true, but it’s like saying that a nectarine and a watermelon are both fruit. She’s a little tart rolling over the tongue, creamy; I crumble in the mouth, wet and rough.

She skips over to the bed, almost invisible with her cream skin on cream satin, hair the color of headlights at night. Do these sheets make me look fat? she asks. She’s serious. How do you know if you’re beautiful? Are you only beautiful if someone else thinks you are? And what does it cost? She almost only ever speaks in questions.

Last week, she was obsessed with cantaloupe and Eartha Kitt. As I got ready for work, she jumped up and down on the bed, singing, I Wanna Be Evil. When I came home, she’d tried to dye her hair black. The dye was spattered on the walls, the couch, the floor, sticking to everything but her hair, which shone like a canary in a coal mine. It didn’t work right, huh, she asks. Do you hate it? Her face crumples. I hate it, she says. I rubbed toothpaste on her hair until it was back to blonde, and we ate cantaloupe in bed, gently scooping the calm flesh into our mouths.

Stop writing. Come talk to me, she says.

Okay.

It’s hard being dead, she says. I never look any older. I want to know what I really look like.

I can’t fix it for you, I tell her. I think that this is love but it feels just like helplessness, I say.

What is the opposite of helplessness? she asks. What is the cost of death? She takes the phone off the hook. A recording plays: If you’d like to make a call, please — she wants to know, if you leave a phone off the hook, how long does the busy signal play for before the line goes dead? She drops the phone receiver on the bed. Is there a time limit to how long you can be happy for? The phone blares its staccato call through the twilight. This is always the last thing I ever hear, she says, as we taste the fruit and meat of each other’s mouths, as I dissolve into her kiss.

Something Somebody Said Once.

"I love you, and a part of me always will."

Who knows if you meant it then, if you mean it now, if you'll ever mean it - but I choose to hope that you might have meant it, and that maybe you still do. Because the feeling it gives me is warmer than any blanket. It's what this blog was created for. It was a little piece of warmth that wraps around me in a way this world can't get close to otherwise. Things like that, things like what you said - they're the needle that turn poems into blankets, and my life into something less ordinary and closer to miracles.

She's All I Can Read. Jeannette, I LOVE YOU.

"Perhaps all romance is like that; not a contract between equal parties but an explosion of dreams and desires that can find no outlet in everyday life. Only a drama will do and while the fireworks last the sky is a different colour."

Jeanette. Oh, Jeanette.

"What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don't want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you."

Just Something

Have you ever thought you were a terrible person?

I sighed. Often, I say, but it makes no difference. Try though I may, I'm always the same. Crooked, backwards, and bent.

Lately, I think it. I believe it. I want to be different. Better.

Then you're already better than most people, I think. The rest of us just don't want to get caught. And that is the god blessed and god awful truth of things.

Well, that seems miserable.

Can't say I ever lied to you.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

This Thing That Was In My Head.

"So say there was another world, then. Would we be together?"

She paused, smiling, and set down the cup.

"I don't think so, darling."

"But, you love me. And I love you. If there was no him, or no her, wouldn't that make things seem right? What else do you need?"

"You love a lot of people, Jane. I love you the way one loves things that are strictly dreams. Things that can't be believed in. I love you how I love Santa Clause for his spirit, or how I wish I could love Jesus. You ask if we would be together. You're not asking if I'd fuck you or we'd share a room. What you're asking is if I'd believe in you. As more than a beautiful gesture or an idea. And at this point, I know you too well. I can't put that sort of faith in you - I see you for who you are. Permanence is not your virtue. I can't pretend we'd be together. I know you too well to love you that way. You don't even enjoy your own company for more than a few moments at a time. What good would a lifetime of me do?"

"It could be different," I managed, "and human nature is not so predictable. Things could be different this time."

"And no two snowflakes are alike, but they'll all fall together, end in an inanimate heap together, and eventually melt into disappearance together. Originality gains me no points. Nor would niavete."

"I could change," I countered, "and things could be as they've never been before. I could fix all the broken things. I could make you different."

"And the world could end next week. I could die tomorrow. The sky could turn purple. We could get fired from our jobs. Could, could, could - a future built out of the hollow bones of little birds. You could do anything. But it's like that lovely poem by Stevens - 'the surviving form of shall or ought to be in is ' - a little piece of hopefulness will always permeate our tomorrows. At the very least, a memory of that hopefulness. And yet, it's just a small piece if it's anything at all. You're already an amalgamated sum of all your defeated 'could be's.' I can't pretend there's no difference between the insistency of 'could be' and the firmness of 'will be' or the truth of 'is.' "

"So what you're saying is, I can't change? You'd not give me that chance?"

"What I'm saying is, you'll never stop changing. And I wouldn't bank on it, no. I need you too much to let you defeat yourself for my sake. I know you too well to love you like that. We would both die. Alone. Together. Alone."

The Backseat Goobye: I Am You, You Are Me

This song will ALWAYS remind me of a certain girl who stole a huge chunk of whatever goodness and gentleness was inside me. Amazing how you can spend years with someone and they can just walk away. I haven't heard this song in forever, and it was odd to be reminded. Here's the better parts of the lyrics.

I'm a coat that you never wear,
except on special occasions year after year.
I'm a shoebox you keep under your bed:
I've got a couple of folded notes in me,
but you can't remember what they said.

So what's the point if you'll forget it in a week?
If it's blind, why believe in love at first sight?
Just stay inside - no one will know,
and you can leave the lights on all you want.

And I hope that you know that I loved you a lot -
(Why worry if we're gonna be home soon?)
it wasn't the alcohol talking at four in the morning,
(Why worry if we're gonna be home soon?)
it was the boy that you met in the hall years ago:

So don't forget me -
Don't you let me become a photograph
that you maybe look at once every year or so
just to recall the way you let me become a ghost.

I said "Sorry" to make you happy.
I kissed cuts to dry your tears.
I sold my clothes to keep you warm,
then you threw me away even after all these years
we spent struggling to pay the rent -
now who can I sing with when
everything's gone to hell?

I'm not alright,
and don't say that I will be.
I loved you,
but you didn't love me.

I Wish, I Wish, I Wish.

Standing outside waiting for the bus, and I swear if I could take a picture of how the sky looks right now - right this very minute, I would. As it is, I don't have the words or the means. Just trust me when I say that tonight, I can see right through to heaven. Makes an otherwise lonely, sad night into something I want to hold onto forever and a day.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Trying To Make It A Good Day

Today, the weather was glorious. It reminded me of last spring when I was dating Lex - walking to class this morning felt like walking back to campus with her. Made me smile to remember it. Those were good days. These are better days. It feels like the world has completely changed it's turning since then. How wild, what changes in a year.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

The Truth About Today

Some days, I can't find a damn beautiful thing to post or say. At least, nothing spontaneous. I have a reserve of quotes I could pull from, but it's really not the same. Anyway, today was just a sad and lonesome day. On the upside, my friends, partner and I are going to see our very own Tinkerbell in the Vagina Monologues tonight, and I'm really excited for that. Here's hoping the night brings me something real to post.

Pete, Wendy and Tink

Every time I see this picture, I become more convinced that there might never be a time in my life at which it doesn't make me smile.

V. Nabokov (aka, THE MAN); Lolita

(My all-time favorite love quote!)

"It was love - at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight."

Possibly The Only Interesting Thing Maya Angelou Ever Said

(I think she's overrated - but I love this.)

I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life. I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as making a "life." I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one. I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I've learned that I still have a lot to learn. I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

Rita Mae Brown, from Riding Shotgun

Loving's pretty easy. It's letting someone love you that's hard.

So Many Reasons To Love Robert Casero

"It's great fun, really, to live during a revolution. I recommend it! I do. So, do yourself an incredible favor in going off to find one," he paused, then smiled - "or making one. Living during (or attempting to live through) a revolution is amongst life's sweetest pleasures."

Love that guy.

Brandi Carlile: That Year

I must have been sleeping; I must have been drinking.
I haven't been dreaming about you for years.
There was a sharp turn and a sunburn -
I was too cool for high school that year.

Must have have been new years -
no one invited you; we took things too far.
But I missed you and your antics:
you were lonesome and blue-eyed and so special to us.

SO Into T. Williams Today

"You said, 'They’re harmless dreamers and they’re loved by the people.' 'What,' I asked you, 'is harmless about a dreamer, and what,' I asked you, 'is harmless about the love of the people? Revolution only needs good dreamers who remember their dreams."

T. Williams

"Kill all my demons, and my angels might die too."

Mm, Willy Shakes.

I am dying, Egypt. Dying.

Kevin Devine: Just Stay

The morning's hot and harsh.
My notebook fills itself.
The words come thick with sweat,
but it feels like someone else
is writing all of this -
someone I just can't believe.
So I mop my brow,
set my pen back down.
Still me, still me.

And I'm grabbing at a feeling, now,
that I can't ever name -
some sign posted to remind me
how I wanted things this way.
She says, "It's pretty,
but you hate yourself;
I can hear it clear as day."
And I say, "I sing like this;
it sounds worse than it is -

I'm okay, okay.
I'm okay, okay.
I'm okay, okay.
I'm okay, okay.
So just stay, just stay
So just stay, just stay
I'm okay, okay.
So just stay, just stay,
just stay, just stay."

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Wallace Stevens

The plum survives its poems. . .
So Crispin hasped on the surviving form,
For him, of shall or ought to be in is.
- from "The Comedian as the Letter C."

(Confusing grammatical choices, but still beautiful.)

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Jeff & Jill's Wedding Locale

Jeff and Jill got married on that stage. Right there. And I read to them. And it was just the loveliest thing. Everyone should have a wedding that's that beautiful. I hope my wedding can make me feel the way theirs did. :)

One More Emma One For The Day.

I can't wait for thirty years from now. A million years from now. For the time when, when someone asks us how long we've been together, I can say "Since always." We've got 'forever' written all over us.

Emma Cowie, Mid-Summer '09

Today, Jim came by with his wife and baby girl. She's twelve days old. It made me realize that smaller increments of time have more importance when the length of something isn't very long. (i.e., the age of people is first measured in days, then weeks, then months and finally years. The same is true for relationships. We've only been together two months, so certain weeks and days hold more meaning. I want to be with you so long that it becomes necessary to measure our relationship in years. Hell, decades even. Don't get me wrong - I never want to forget those special days or weeks that hold so much meaning to us now; I just want LOTS and LOTS of them! Basically, I love you and I want us to share our lives with each other. I originally worded that sentence as 'I want to share my life with you' but then I realized that I want your life just as much entangled in mine as I want to be entangled in yours. Let's share lives? Let's aim for the day when we can measure the length of our love in years? K, Thanks.

Something Somebody Said Once #3

"Fuck 'appropriate' - We've got lives to live."

Toni Morrison, from Beloved

"She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order."

Clive Barker, From Arabat: Days of Magic, Nights of War

"After a battle lasting many ages,
The Devil won,
And said to God
(who had been his Maker):
'Lord,
We are about to witness the unmaking of Creation
By my hand.
I would not wish you
to think me cruel,
So I beg you, take three things
From this world before I destroy it.
Three things, and then the rest will be
wiped away.'

God thought for a little time.
And at last He said:
'No, there is nothing.'
The Devil was surprised.
'Not even you, Lord?' he said.
And God said:
'No. Not even me.'"

Oh, You Should Know Who This Is.

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."

Nicole Krauss: from The History Of Love

Franz Kafka is Dead

He died in a tree from which he wouldn't come down. "Come down!" they cried to him. "Come down! Come down!" Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. "I can't," he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. "Why?" they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. "Because then you'll stop asking for me." The people whispered and nodded among themselves. They put their arms around each other, and touched their children's hair. They took off their hats and raised them to the small, sickly man with the ears of a strange animal, sitting in his black velvet suit in the dark tree. Then they turned and started for home under the canopy of leaves. Children were carried on their fathers' shoulders, sleepy from having been taken to see who wrote his books on pieces of bark he tore off the tree from which he refused to come down. In his delicate, beautiful, illegible handwriting. And they admired those books, and they admired his will and stamina. After all: who doesn't wish to make a spectacle of his loneliness? One by one families broke off with a good night and a squeeze of the hands, suddenly grateful for the company of neighbors. Doors closed to warm houses. Candles were lit in windows. Far off, in his perch in the trees , Kafka listened to it all: the rustle of the clothes being dropped to the floor, or lips fluttering along naked shoulders, beds creaking along the weight of tenderness. It all caught in the delicate pointed shells of his ears and rolled like pinballs through the great hall of his mind.

That night a freezing wind blew in. When the children wake up, they went to the window and found the world encased in ice. One child, the smallest, shrieked out in delight and her cry tore through the silence and exploded the ice of a giant oak tree. The world shone.

They found him frozen on the ground like a bird. It's said that when they put their ears to the shell of his ears, they could hear themselves."

Jonathan Safran Foer, From ELAIC

"We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families and our friends, and even the people who aren't on our lists, people we've never met but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe."

Saul Bellow is THE MAN.

"I am a phoenix who runs after arsonists."

Francesca Lia Block: From Weetzie Bat

"Wish on everything. Pink cars are good, especially old ones. And stars of course, first stars and shooting stars. Planes will do if they are the first light in the sky and look like stars. Wish in tunnels, holding your breath and lifting your feet off the ground. Birthday candles. Baby teeth."

Dar Williams: The Hudson

“If we’re lucky, we feel our lives
know when the next scene arrives -
so, often, we start in the middle
and work our way out.
We go to some grey sky diner for eggs and toast,
New York Times or the New York Post,
then we take a ride through
the valley of the shadow of death.

Where and when does the memory take hold?
Mountain range in the Autumn cold…
and I thought West Point was Camelot in the spring.

If you’re lucky,
you’ll find something that reflects you,
helps you feel your life protects you,
cradles you and connects you to everything.
This whole life I remember
as I begged my heart itself:
Please, never turn me into someone else.”

Emma Cowie, Mid-Fall '09

ecowie0213 (1:55:00 AM): so girlfriend, you are laying in my bed sleeping while i am trying to keep a camper from going crazy. i wish i was in bed with you, with your arms around me, with your lips on the back of my neck. i know i say it all the time, but i just love you. i want to just love you forever. until we’re old ladies chasing eachother around with our canes. i want to be the story of your life; your greatest adventure. i will put a ring on it someday. promise.

Something Somebody Said Once #2

"Happily ever after implies that nothing comes next."

Scandanavia, by Me

We’re gonna buy a big house with the money we’ll have
when they start buying my songs and we’ll paint it
whatever color you want, as long as I can sit in the picture
window with my notebook, and remember us with my
pencil, making sure we are heard. We’re gonna have a big
garden with sunflowers that climb the walls, and daisies
lining the crooked sidewalks; I’ll tie balloons to all our railings
and there will always be ice cream, just because. We’re gonna
have fewer broken pieces; we’re gonna have clean floors;
we’re gonna have soft beds, and mornings that don’t feel like
the end of a war. I’ll play my baby grand in the front room,
and every love song will be about a girl like you. I don’t believe
in god, or heaven – but I believe in a house like that, a love like that.

Something Somebody Said Once

"I wanted the world to go away for a little so that I could keep kissing you for longer and not give you back to that world until I was done. And I wanted it to not matter if I was ever done."

Anais Nin

“Both Henry and June have destroyed
the logic and unity of my life.
It is good, for a pattern is not living.
Now, I am living.
I am not making patterns.”
- Anais Nin

From "I Wrote This For You"

On this day, you read something that moved you and made you realise there were no more fears to fear. No tears to cry. No head to hang in shame. That every time you thought you’d offended someone, it was all just in your head and really, they love you with all their heart and nothing will ever change that. That everyone and everything lives on inside you. That that doesn’t make any of it any less real.

That soft touches will change you and stay with you longer than hard ones.

That being alone means you’re free. That old lovers miss you and new lovers want you and the one you’re with is the one you’re meant to be with. That the tingles running down your arms are angel feathers and they whisper in your ear, constantly, if you choose to hear them. That everything you want to happen, will happen, if you decide you want it enough. That every time you think a sad thought, you can think a happy one instead.

That you control that completely.

That the people who make you laugh are more beautiful than beautiful people. That you laugh more than you cry. That crying is good for you. That the people you hate wish you would stop and you do too.

That your friends are reflections of the best parts of you. That you are more than the sum total of the things you know and how you react to them. That dancing is sometimes more important than listening to the music.

That the most embarrassing, awkward moments of your life are only remembered by you and no one else. That no one judges you when you walk into a room and all they really want to know, is if you’re judging them. That what you make and what you do with your time is more important than you’ll ever fathom and should be treated as such. That the difference between a job and art is passion. That neither defines who you are. That talking to strangers is how you make friends.

That bad days end but a smile can go around the world. That life contradicts itself, constantly. That that’s why it’s worth living.

That the difference between pain and love is time. That love is only as real as you want it to be. That if you feel good, you look good but it doesn’t always work the other way around.

That the sun will rise each day and it’s up to you each day if you match it. That nothing matters up until this point. That what you decide now, in this moment, will change the future. Forever. That rain is beautiful.

And so are you.

A Conversation From Summertime, by Emma and I

love vs rhetoric (8:12:17 PM): do whatever it is that you think is best. you know her. you know you. don’t do anything for my benefit.
ecowie0213 (8:13:03 PM): why wouldn’t i do something for your benefit?
love vs rhetoric (8:14:49 PM): because it’s your life! i feel badly enough to have intruded on your business.
ecowie0213 (8:15:10 PM): my life is your life, now.
ecowie0213 (8:15:17 PM): i couldn’t ask for anything more.

Rubber-Ball-Banded, by Me

The rain
slaps
my windows
like it’s
the fight
of the century.
My bet
is on
the windows.
Some things
are made
to be strong,
not to break
and these things
deserve
some confidence.
I believe
in a you-and-me love,
a Sunday drive
that takes all afternoon,
and wooden dinosaurs
and thank-you cards.
All the little pieces
of you and me
that make a life -
my life -
into something
that cannot be broken,
not by highways,
not by silence,
not by rain.

Say Yes, by Andrea Gibson

when two violins are placed in a room
if a chord on one violin is struck
the other violin will sound the note
if this is your definition of hope
this is for you
the ones who know how powerful we are
who know we can sound the music in the people around us
simply by playing our own strings
for the ones who sing life into broken wings
open their chests and offer their breath
as wind on a still day when nothing seems to be moving
spare those intent on proving god is dead
for you when your fingers are red
from clutching your heart
so it will beat faster
for the time you mastered the art of giving yourself for the sake of someone else
for the ones who have felt what it is to crush the lies
and lift truth so high the steeples bow to the sky

this is for you

this is also for the people who wake early to watch flowers bloom
who notice the moon at noon on a day when the world
has slapped them in the face with its lack of light
for the mothers who feed their children first
and thirst for nothing when they’re full

this is for women

and for the men who taught me only women bleed with the moon
but there are men who cry when women bleed
men who bleed from women’s wounds
and this is for that moon
on the nights she seems hung by a noose
for the people who cut her loose
and for the people still waiting for the rope to burn
about to learn they have scissors in their hands

this is for the man who showed me
the hardest thing about having nothing
is having nothing to give
who said the only reason to live is to give ourselves away
so this is for the day we’ll quit or jobs and work for something real
we’ll feel for sunshine in the shadows
look for sunrays in the shade
this is for the people who rattle the cage that slave wage built
and for the ones who didn’t know the filth until tonight
but right now are beginning songs that sound something like
people turning their porch lights on and calling the homeless back home

this is for all the shit we own
and for the day we’ll learn how much we have
when we learn to give that shit away
this is for doubt becoming faith
for falling from grace and climbing back up
for trading our silver platters for something that matters
like the gold that shines from our hands when we hold each other

this is for the grandmother who walked a thousand miles on broken glass
to find that single patch of grass to plant a family tree
where the fruit would grow to laugh
for the ones who know the math of war
has always been subtraction
so they live like an action of addition
for you when you give like every star is wishing on you
and for the people still wishing on stars
this is for you too

this is for the times you went through hell so someone else wouldn’t have to
for the time you taught a 14 year old girl she was powerful
this is for the time you taught a 14 year old boy he was beautiful
for the radical anarchist asking a republican to dance
cause what’s the chance of everyone moving from right to left
if the only moves they see are NBC and CBS
this is for the no becoming yes
for scars becoming breath
for saying i love you to people who will never say it to us
for scraping away the rust and remembering how to shine
for the dime you gave away when you didn’t have a penny
for the many beautiful things we do
for every song we’ve ever sung
for refusing to believe in miracles
because miracles are the impossible coming true
and everything is possible

this is for the possibility that guides us
and for the possibilities still waiting to sing
and spread their wings inside us
cause tonight saturn is on his knees
proposing with all of his ten thousand rings
that whatever song we’ve been singing we sing even more
the world needs us right now more than it ever has before
pull all your strings
play every chord
if you’re writing letters to the prisoners
start tearing down the bars
if you’re handing our flashlights in the dark
start handing our stars
never go a second hushing the percussion of your heart
play loud
play like you know the clouds have left too many people cold and broken
and you’re their last chance for sun
play like there’s no time for hoping brighter days will come
play like the apocalypse is only 4…3…2
but you have a drum in your chest that could save us
you have a song like a breath that could raise us
like the sunrise into a dark sky that cries to be blue
play like you know we won’t survive if you don’t
but we will if you do
play like saturn is on his knees
proposing with all of his ten thousand rings
that we give every single breath
this is for saying–yes

this is for saying–yes

Bless The God Of Small Things, by Me

I strain my
thoughts
like thread
through
rusted needles,
trying to find
a way
to explain
the tenderness
in your body
when it moves
against mine,
like a glove
so gently
holding
protecting
a hand.

I am a poet
who fails
or maybe
flies highest of all -
I can never
find the words
and so,
I make do
with what’s around.
Your tongue
paints pictures
like ancient
drawings of faith
across the bones
of my hips,
against
the throb
of my neck.

There’s something
so sweet, so soft
in the shape
of your eyes
when they turn towards me,
taking me in -
I can feel your whole self
dilate
and I feel like I, too,
just once,
might be Something.

You love me
with a charming grace
so believable
simply because
it is true:
you love me,
you love me,
and to you
it is as easy
and as complicated
as that.

In my worst dreams,
you leave me
and yet
you break my heart
so gently, so gently
that even in
my pain, my loss,
I never forget
how well
I have been loved
by you.

Your fingertips
read the prayers
written in braille
upon my pale skin,
and offers them up
to the god of small things,
the god of everyday deaths
and lives that try;
it is him I thank
when my palm presses
against your pulse,
counting the rhythm
of you, you, you
and I, I, I
until sleep takes us
in its arms
and rocks us into dreams.

I Wasn't, by Me.

My mind
needs
a leash,
maybe
a muzzle
since
it
crashes
through
the shriek
of my
electric
fenced
brain
and always,
always,
always, always
always
ends up
in
someone
else’s
yard.

I Do, by Andrea Gibson

I do.
But the motherfuckers say we can’t, ‘cause you’re a girl and I’m a girl (or at least something close) so the most we can hope for is an uncivil union in Vermont but I want church bells – I want rosary beads; I want Jesus on his knees. I want to walk down the aisle while all the patriarchy smiles – well, I guess that’s not true. But I do want to spend my life with you. And I want to know that fifty years from now when you’re in a hospital room and getting ready to die, when visiting hours are for family members only, I want to know they’ll let me in to say goodbye. ‘Cause I’ve been fifty years memorizing how the lines beneath your eyes form rivers when you cry and I’ve held my hand like an ocean at your cheek saying, “Baby, flow to me.” ‘Cause fifty years I’ve watched you grow with me – fifty years of you never letting go of me, through nightmares and dreams and everything in between from the day I said “Buy me a ring.” Buy me a ring that will turn my finger green so I can imagine our love is a forest – because I wanna get lost in you. And I swear I grew like a flower every hour of the fifty years I was with you – and that’s not to say we didn’t have bad days. Like the day you said, “That checkout girl was so sweet.” And I said I’d like to eat that checkout clerk and you said, “Baby that’s not funny” and I said “Baby, maybe you could take a fucking joke now and then,” and I slept on the couch that night. But when morning came, you were laughing. Yeah, there were times we were both half-in and half out the door but I never needed more than the stars of your grin to lead me home. For fifty years, you were my favorite poem and I’d read you every night knowing I might never understand every word but that’s okay – ‘cause the lines of you were the closest thing to holy I’d ever heard. You’d say, “This kind of love has to be a verb.” We are paint on a slick canvas – it’s gonna take a whole lot to stick but if we do, we’ll be a masterpiece. And we were – from the beginning living in towns that frowned at our hand-holding, folding up their stares like hate notes into our pockets so we could pretend they weren’t there. You said, “Fear is only a verb if you let it be. Don’t you dare let go of my hand.” That was my favorite line. That and the time we saw two boys kissing on the streets of Kansas, and we both broke down crying, because it was Kansas and what are the chances of seeing anything but corn in Kansas? We were born again that day. I cut your cord and you cut mine, and the chords of time played like a concerto of hope so we could feel the rope unwind, feel the noose of hate loosening, loosing from the years of “People like you aren’t welcome here. People like you can’t work here. People like you cannot adopt” – so we had lots of cats and dogs and once even a couple of monkeys you taught to sing, “Hey, hey, we’re the monkeys.” You were crazy like that – and I was crazy about you. On nights you couldn’t sleep, I’d lay awake for hours counting sheep for you and you would rewrite the rhythm of my heartbeat with the way you held me in the morning, resting your head on my chest and I swear my breath turned silver the day your hair did, like I swore marigolds grew in the folds of my eyelids the first time I saw you and they bloomed the first time I watched you dance to the tune of our kitchen kettle in our living room in a world that could have left us hard as metal, we were soft as nostalgia together. For fifty years, we feathered wings too wide to be prey and we flew through days strong and through days fragile as sand-castles at high tide and you would fold your love into an origami firefly and you’d throw it through my passageways until all my hidden chambers were filled with lanterns, now, every trap door, every pore of my heart is open because of you – because of us – so I do, I do, I do want to be in that room with you. When visiting hours are for family members only, I want to know they’ll let me in. I want to know they’ll let me hold you while I sing, “ba be de bop de ba ba, baby I’m so in love with you. I’m so in love with you. Ba be de bop de ba bop be be da bop ba – goodbye.”