Sunday, 12 May 2013
i’m leaving in 5 days and you’re not leaving in 5 days
so i lay on the floor of my mom’s hotel room waiting for your quiet knock, the sink light on
and we go sit on the picnic table outside with the empty glass bottles scattered diagonally across it
we laugh and kiss and act like “those people” and try not to think about the car across the parking lot packed tight with half of everything i own
and the idea of leaving hits me across the face like a slap and it hurts
and i think about the 5 days between the 2 days of weekend, stretched tight across the whole summer
those 5 long days sitting at work, sitting in the hot sun, trying not to think about you here and me there
Thursday, 25 April 2013
trying not to detach
last night you held my face so carefully, more than i've ever felt
and everything was supposed to make sense but it didn't
i couldn't understand any of it
tried not to think but i did
tried to let go but i couldn't
why does everything in me reject the kind of closeness that is so rarely beautiful, that moves us to love?
i'm trying, please let me try
Monday, 22 April 2013
Where do you keep the jars of notes?
I have three,
A hundred times folded slips of paper,
Thick like wads of dollar bills,
Flood them, up to the rim,
Up to the very cusp of the edge
Of the glass.
And they feel smooth like cotton
Absorbing love that kept well over
Refrigerating the perishable store
That we built up and forgot to keep for ourselves.
Do you have my handwriting
Preserved loosely in the space of those lines
Saying loose things
That I can't say anymore?
Sometimes I go back to our old places
Our old jokes and words and looks
And I am very glad I knew you as I did.
Tuesday, 09 April 2013
while i was in San Francisco this last week, we volunteered at a meal service. i worked in the coffee lounge where all the handicapped people ate.
i met two men here named Cliff and William. Cliff was in a wheelchair, and he had a hard time pouring his own water, so William would do it for him, and they would smile at each other while doing it.
William said little while Cliff said many things. we talked about art, and he asked if i was the type of artist who preferred photo-realism and naturalistic qualities in art. i said, no, not really, art is subjective and should be allowed to break away from real world representation.
"ahh, so you're one of us," Cliff said, and the mutual appreciation i felt between us filled me up. we had gone past that dividing line of has and has not. the 4 causes of aristotle came up, and he recommended me different metaphysical literature. he had roadtripped a lot when he was younger, and he told me to travel everywhere as long as i could. he found curse words distasteful.
and then, we talked about AIDS and car accidents and health insurance. "you are a sweetheart, listen to me honey, if there is anything you should take from me, it's to get health insurance! do it!" they both laughed with light hearts that covered up those deep regrets. "don't give it up to just anybody, keep your legs closed, and you only live with a boyfriend when you trust him. love maybe comes second."
but the thing that got me, the thing that untangled it all, was one of the last things he said. "you know these enormous San Francisco hills? sometimes, when we're at the top, i make him" (here, he jabbed a finger and a smile at William) "let me go by myself, so i feel like i am free again."
and without skipping a beat, William said, "but i'm always too afraid i'll lose him." Cliff squeezed William's hand.
the next day, one of the people in my group said he saw them outside the Glide kitchen, waiting in line again, and i wished so hard that i had been the one to see them again.
William pushes Cliff's chair all over San Francisco every day, up and down those enormous San Francisco hills. and maybe they don't have any money or walls or jobs... but i have never seen two people love each other the way they did. that's remarkable, and it gives me hope.
Wednesday, 27 March 2013
You said, "Well I mean, if a lot of my favorite songs remind me of you, and this could all be fleeting, it'd be a bit of a bummer."
And I said, "Why are you worried about whether it's fleeting or not? When you worry about the end, you miss all the good stuff. We've barely started and you're already worried I'm going to take away your favorite songs when it's done. And that's quite a killjoy."
But really I'm worried too.