closed and open

1.
tightly bound
within my winter coat

hands balled
into fists
jammed into pockets

fingers curled
against the rough edges
of you apartment keys

leaving the imprint of a memory
that there is a place
to open
to go home

2.
you open me to
believing sunlight should be
always drenching me

left behind, or in boxes

when I look for a pan at grandma's to make grilled cheese

an order that makes sense to you
an iron in the oven
locked in a place unused
a house cold and dusty

all the dinners
you can't remember how to make dinner

***

when you eat the jambalaya I made for a second night

a bowl of leftovers
tucked in your fridge
makes me feel like I'm still waiting for you

***

when you tell me what we actually picked up from your dad's house

like a comedy
where everything goes wrong
you say we have a body in the trunk
all that's left of your mom
nonchalantly tucked in with your old books

finally getting to share a joke with her
like we've met on this unconventional road trip

on the train to edinburgh

playing cards
on the train
a novelty
for an American

the lulling
two-toned sound
of each stop
along the way

hearts and spades

the cadence in your voice
mingling
with the shuffling snap of cards
landscapes made of colors
until now
unseen

hope

like trying on sandals
while winter lingers

it's a hopefulness
that cannot be shaken

coaxing the future
into existence
now

footnotes

I do not miss you
for I sleep near you always
held tight in my dreams

knickknack

it's difficult to not feel a snatch of nostalgia
when I hold
our old
memories in my hands

but maybe I don't miss you anymore

when I occupy a space you've never breathed into
you're delegated to knickknacks
keeping cracks and crevices together

maybe I miss your glue
your tenacious way of holding me tight

but maybe I don't miss you anymore

when I'm holding it together myself
white calendar blocks where your name previously resided

maybe I miss
what I can't recreate
as much as I redecorate
every little pink pill I take at night
for easy dreams
since I can't creep next door into yours

patience

head down
snot streams out
shoulders
engaged in a delicate shuffle
near silent gasps
the only betrayal

a salt-coated
cell phone
crustaceous
cradled like a conch

cracks in the window
threatening to burst wide
a deep
cool
chill
carrying the sound
of ocean sighs
too deep for words

white malaise

canvas still shrink wrapped
letters
unfinished

settling in
for a stretch
that patience won't ease

screens and screens and screens
boxes of light
all i have to look at
all i have to wait for
lighting up
growing dim

wilderness

tell me how did you feel

when you come out the wilderness?

but you haven't seen the wilderness

you set it aside

to visit on your vacations

you drive to

in you impenetrable SUVs

you like the idea of being scared

in plush theater seats

an exit sign always lighting the way

I tell you

I'm scared

that you've set this aside

now that I've come to your home

to sit in your parks

I tell you

you don't want the wilderness

we've been fleeing to you

because the wilderness

is too much to care for

too much to bear

home

under the last breath of evening light
I'm finally not alone
watching the leaves move
watching you explore the waterfall

I cannot tell you the name of the tree we sat under
or the exact shade of green
the trees lent to my vision

but the feeling of your hand on my shoulder
the wind lifting my hair
all working as one

I am home

I do not know where any of this begins
or where I end
space between our skin
soil under my feet
and yet

I am home

mail

there's a letter
waiting on my desk
with your name on it

"take me with you!"
i tell it.

mournfully gazing
at the letter
that can't quite
hold everything i'd like to send

i keep a stack of letters
that you wrote my name on
sometimes
i pull them out
just to look at
my name
in your handwriting

just maybe
it'll be enough
to make your heart jump
to see my familiar scrawl

sin

trees
curling, waving
finery on display
while we nonchalantly
drive by
coughing our exhaust
on their extended gifts

After a week of cloudy days

all lifting
our green leafy heads
crooning our love songs
leaves, fingers
animal eyes
stretched
toward the sun God
absolute adoration
for unchallenged light
dependent on
the mysterious untouchable beast in the sky
all the same

red in tooth and claw

red bleeding into the edge of leaves
weight
snapping the stem

the words to speak
the language of the trees
isn't there

is it the abandonment of love
that allows these trees to let go?

never knowing
if what we see as vibrancy
is the pain of thousands of deaths
pieces of the self
falling, decaying
year after year
only to be raked away

talking about the weather

i can see you
standing at the window
veined hand cradling the phone
unsure of what to talk about
except what is familiar
what you can see
the elements of your day
elusive
pill bottles left untouched
bills not paid
slipping out of what you can know
and remember

delighted to hear my voice
you speak of what you know
the corn in the field across the street
the leaves covering your lawn
as they do year after year

the season arriving just on time
reliable
you know
you can always talk about the weather

i am thankful for the world
not for it's beauty
not because it is intrinsically good
or deserves any attention on its own
but because for this one moment
my grandmother
has become alive
and regained control
through the red hues of autumn

Generosity

What is life if not generosity?
With the drink and with doubts,
a whole-hearted abandon to the expanse of sadness
letting go
when all your body wants is a tight, inward frugality.

To cut loose from other's eyes,
knowing that you
and you alone
have spent the greatest, most fluid and alive
time with yourself.

Allowing yourself to make mistakes.

To dump money like the paper and abstraction it is,
and to let its weight spread.

What is life if not generosity?
An excess of vulnerability,
in the dark and cold and uncertain places
where you must be patient
if anyone is ever to find you.

Playing your music too loudly.
Overstaying your welcome.
Holding onto that library book after it is due.

Gifting your being to all things that are bright
and compelling
easy and legs wide
limitless.

Generosity, as becoming.
Not born
fully formed and unwilling
but refolded minute by minute
by the sticky hands
held open by love.

What is life if not generosity?
Overuse of the snooze
and an abundance of space
for dreams to roam.

conversations

deep cramps of stress
inside, outside
neck, intestines
woven through bone

from new people, new rooms
talk talk talk

such careful effort it takes
to thrive in a human ecosystem

but the leaves require no invitation to their celebration

a spider does not require you to say,
"hello, where are you from?"
just lands right in your space
it knows you are from right here
right now
trying to breathe peaceably

the wind does not care if you are on time
unlike tidy human schedules
where tardiness is a demerit
where you cannot gust in and out as you please

I am not required to speak at all
or to adjust myself
but to be present
under a canopy of easy green

prayer

I.
dear jesus
these people are shuffling around
receiving pious marks
i don't know how you put up with church people
God
i don't want any of that
i'm closing my eyes
which appears to be the cool thing to do when you pray
but because i want this to go through
i want heat in my hands
i want to hold the joints
of my new friend
who was so kind
and is sitting next to me now
(it's so nice to have friends)
and why does she have to have chronic pain
i see you in her
you're the fire
God, be the fire

II.
dear jesus
you know how guitar music reminds me of you
and now i want to ask you into my heart again
even though i haven't done that in a while
and i don't think i believe that exactly anymore
it seems a little grotesque
please jesus
open the doors, or the eyes, or something of my heart
just do what you do
to wash away my sins
to wash away my knowledge of nietzsche
to strip away these inherited doubts
please lord jesus
let me close my eyes
and not remember that there's a suffering world
that makes thoughts of you difficult
jesus can we go back to when it was about the music?
this music is so good
it has to come from you
when i hear the beat of the drum
i know it's from you
let that be enough
less words, more music
let that be enough

III.
amen, lord God
fire of my eyes
and it was so

lavish (praise God all ye creatures)

oh, thank God
for the small, sweet crack
of tender salmon
resurrected

for the eyes of exuberance
watching me from across the table

rejoice!
over flames of firelight
(romantics, romancing)

the night marinated in wine
draped in curtains
across alleyways

here (oh here, right now)
let us pour out -- all
from fingertips to lips

dance in delight, dear mouth
the effervescence of flavors
eyes closed
prepared for any prayer
that might be heard

a different kind of lonely

if i hadn't met you
it'd be a different kind of lonely
sitting
with legs dangling
waiting for something i didn't know

that wide open loneliness
where it hurts
reaching out in all directions
fields upon fields

i'm waiting for one thing now