It wasn’t so long ago that I ached for you,
that I was confused by you,
that I wasn’t sure what I wouldn’t leave for you.
And now you’re sitting across state lines and
I don’t know if I’ll need you anytime soon, see,
I’ve moved on from you.
But, just now I remembered how much I used to miss you
and it hurt me. It made me wonder if you had been
the best part of me.
I hope I find something else that drives me mad as much as you.
Tell me you always keep dreaming
about us so I will know that my mind
isn’t the only one tinkering with such
possible fantasies. Tell me you’d follow
me somewhere; maybe not anywhere
but at least across state lines. Tell me
you will make it work; that it is not
my job to hold us and we together.
Tell me you want me to be there,
make me feel important -
almost but not quite essential.
missing you. Wanting
you. Needing you. But I won’t
say anything yet.
It’s a magic act.
Now you see him,
now he’s dancing under an almighty disco ball
on top of Antartica.
It’s amazing really,
how quickly vitality swarmed
from the back of his esophagus, bees
zipping away from a warm nest.
He takes one last candy-coated
breath and then - that’s when.
It started off slow,
snails oozing across skin that used to shine,
but then, towards the end,
he got swept into the universe’s dustpan
at the hand of the broom that brought him.
Like a quarter behind your ear,
like a dollar up his coat sleeve,
it all feels so much like an illusion.
Here is the truth:
In June my heart will break.
It won’t be sad like fallen china
or unfortunate like car engine.
It will be happy like cracked egg,
joyful like wishbone cracking.
It will scatter across 1-94,
make its way over to Minneapolis
and sprint to meet Bonnie
wherever her running shoes choose to marathon next.
Break but not broken; break but not shattered.
Break but now it means I have an excuse to visit
four different cities on alternating holidays to say
hello to the pieces of my heart that live there now.
When I say I need space,
what I mean is that my mind is overcrowded
with the thought of you,
that I am almost bursting with
how much I want to be with you,
that, honestly, proximity is an afterthought
since lately your name has been stuck
to the tip of my tongue and all
my autonomous intentions
topple over you anyways.
My god - our bodies,
when pushed to their limits, are
We sat like brothers,
legs spread wide, taking up space
on the couch and next to each other
like it had always been ours
like we owned a little bit of one another,
feeling half a bottle of wine drunk
For a second I think we both thought
that that this relationship could be a friendship,
or was it the other way around?
That this friendship was a relationship,
yes, maybe that thought was more profound.
Thought that we could be more than
mentors for our former selves;
playing it safe to stay away from big mistakes
like love or undressing.
But then that feeling, it felt ominous,
emotions no more than erroneous,
felt like nothing ever known to us.
So we sat there, brothers, both of us.
For God once said, quite explicitly, “I just wanted to remind guys that when I said ‘Love all people,’ I really meant all of them. Not just straight white people. Don’t try to twist that around, okay?” John 3:18-21
So yes, those with heavy yokes, come unto me. And all others with easy yokes and lighter burdens should do their part to help out those who don’t have it so hot. I’m looking at you, tax collectors. Matthew 11:31-33
And when people really screw you over, which they will, remember that whatever you do, you should not, I repeat - not - try to patch things up on a cross-country road trip. It never ends well. Luke 6:39-41
Again, I’d like to say explicitly here - ‘slave’ is a metaphor for sacrifice and servitude to God. Don’t try to use this verse to justify actual slavery. Slavery is probably one of the worst things you could do to another person. I shouldn’t have to remind you that, but I will. Mark 10:46-50
Dark jeans in July that made my body too hot,
long loose skirts that felt like too much fabric,
pillows on my lap,
books on my lap,
plates on my lap,
blankets on my lap,
water-resistant cover-up from an infomercial
that I begged my mom to buy me,
that I tried using one summer before field trips to the lake
(it came off anyways),
sitting with my legs crossed,
sitting with my legs folded underneath me,
sitting with my legs straight out in front of me,
and remembering to never sit Indian style in shorts.