The Unexpected.

6-28-20

I got married last year under

an October sunset

When I talk about it

it sounds like fiction,

How the golden light

Poured in through

The leaves and our

Best friends stood by

Our sides like a fall

Harvest of berries,

Sweet enough for pie.

How my cheeks hurt from

Smiling and how

We stayed up late

Eating cake and talking.

For months after, and still,

I find Easter eggs of confetti

In pockets and shoes.

Every star perfectly aligned.

The more I think about it,

The more impossible it

Becomes to untangle

The past from the present.

How many teeth did I shed?

How many scraped knees

and bloody noses

and new hands did I

spend turning soil

to unearth this master plan?

I must have cried rivers

and oceans and wished

on every full moon.

It took me lifetimes

To get here,

to find solid ground.

I built this home on

Hangovers and

Diet Coke cans.

I spent lifetimes in

my bathtub, praying to

Epsom salts and

baptizing myself

With  lavender.

There is nothing I have

been less prepared for

than happiness.

Whole and warm and juicy.

The first bite of a peach.

The last dream before waking.

Every day with you.

Chapters

9-20-17

I wish I could have told you not to worry. That it wasn’t necessary. To trust in the moon and count the stars until you fall asleep, because on the other side there is safety and warmth. That every breath and tear and scream into a pillow was taking you one step closer to the next page. I know you didn’t think it would end, that chapter of endless hurt. That prolonged, medically sustained night. But here we are, and you, on the other side, a bright and shiny thing. 

Regression

9-18-17

It was something like a fork in the road and instead I turned around.

Why am I still trying to untangle the damage when my comb is missing most of its teeth?

Floorplans

12-9-15
I want to know what goes on inside of you. The cracks in your bones and the faulty brags of your heart. I want to know your saddest sadness and your most joyful joy. I want to know your pain and your fear. I want to tuck myself into you every night, and know the floor plan of your being well enough that I don’t need to turn on the lights to navigate the space between your arms and the kitchen.

How Love Works

1-4-16
I am sure that I have loved you for much longer than I’ve known you. It started in the dark, deep cracks left behind by the thieves before you. It grew out of nothing, nurtured by nothing. I didn’t know that’s how love works; it just is.

Sharing Cake

1-3-17
I don’t know what to tell you.
We never saw the sun the same.
We never drank in the moon together
Or took greedy bites out of the ocean.
We shared cake once
And you thought I owed you
My being.

Upwards and Outwards

1-4-17
I don’t know.
I just want to climb upwards and outwards
Up the side of the moon
Out past the edges where everything blurs
I’m looking for something
Cold and wet and too big
To carry in my pocket.
I’ve been asking my mother every night
For you.

Questions for The New Year

12-30-16
How do I wrap my legs around you,
so that you don’t slip away
in the milliseconds between today and
tomorrow?
What if I fill you with champagne,
and spill it on the floor
and use the good towels to dry up
the tile?
Who do you see when you wake up,
at 3:20 in the morning
for a break from dreaming,
next to you?
Where can I keep you safe,
from the dangers of living
and the inevitable awkward fumbles
of me?
When will I find you,
soft in the morning
of a breath-of-fresh-air
New Year?