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Posts Tagged ‘love’

There is something in the air,
pressurized so we can breathe it,
that puts a knot in my chest every time I inhale
39,000 feet above the sea

There is something about the propeller vibrations
that mimic the muscles in
my legs and back

I am flying home.
I should be flying home to you –

I brought you a volcanic rock from a beach where
the road ends and some handmade soap
and a peppermint chocolate bar –

I’ll probably eat the chocolate
when I’m sad and put the soap
in the bathroom to use up as fast
as I can and set the rock on the windowsill
next to the crazy basil plant

There’s something about
the emergency exit row
that reminds me of the last time we flew
when I slept with my head on your soft shoulder

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There was only one toilet, and there were two of us. We tried to dance around it, and we tried to be strong. In the end, we had no chance: someone was going to have to shit in the tub.

I cried after my 6th bout of diarrhea, and he kept making jokes after he puked out everything in his stomach. Really good jokes with impeccable timing.

He sleeps on the twin bed pushed next to mine now, not even snoring a little. I eat a packaged croissant quietly and slowly. I have never loved him more.

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thank you for walking under the cherry blossoms with me
and talking to me as i cried afterward

the day before radka lisa day was a rough one
and a beautiful one

when i am able to walk down streets of english-style houses
and not worry about everything, i want to be walking with you

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If Portland
Or Cupertino
Or Austin
Or Atlanta
Or Chicago
Or New York
Gets you
They will be
The luckiest

They will get
(And I will miss)
Your giggling
And morning stories
And accents
And exuberance
And gregariousness
And filmmaking rage
And political frustration
And writing passion
And musical talent
And gentleness
And kindness
And over-eager cheering-up attempts
And care
And embraces
And plan-making
And blue eyes
And playfulness
And truth-telling
And dog noises
And text message codes
And optimism
And nuzzling
And sweet attention to detail

If Portland
Or Cupertino
Or Austin
Or Atlanta
Or Chicago
Or New York
Gets you
I will be grateful
You loved me
And I will go back
To God
(For entirely
Selfish reasons)
To beg to
Get you again

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I hid my puffy eyes behind my hair.
You didn’t know I had been crying.
I wouldnt let you in.
You covered me with a blanket and let me sleep.
I threatened to walk away.
You hugged me until I was quiet.
I fell into dark hopelessness.
You gave me room to breathe.
I felt like a young girl.
You weren’t afraid to love me.

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I carry a dead beagle and half a dozen homes spread across the country,
a time at Christmas on the farm when I looked through my grandma’s medicine cabinet after everyone was asleep,
lonely winters of too much wine and too much poetry,
bouts of destructive decision-making and lashing out at loved ones,
the most critical eye fixed right on myself,
constant daily fear of being left again,
constant daily fear of not making the most of it,
jealousy built into me that nothing can banish,
so many nights of screaming matches and tears and slamming the door to walk to my car in the cold,
shameful attention seeking,
unrealistic expectations,
falso bravado,
withheld affection,
thanklessness.

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It just takes a few of your words on a screen
and a few minutes in a flowery room
and a few vivid imaginations
to bring me to you.

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