#spr22

bound to you, once

in a rope silk

some days, a wire

frayed so thin

around my neck,

it won’t take much,

so why did you tug?

and cut so close

to my throat

when letting go

was the kinder thing,

oh, i held too tight.

i tell myself

you hated me

(though i know it’s not true,)

out of sight, out of mind

your mind, if you think you know how and

where your sentences will end.

endings don't always sit where 

your sentences end,

they don't begin when

you think they do; your sentence remains

unsaid,

unfinished, 

out of your mind

and forgotten. 

beginnings find their endings in corners and

you'll lose your mind when you find out what they do 

when you're not looking.

the time will come for your sentence to speak

and you have time

to begin

don't listen to my tongue, my throat, 

please only hear me when i kiss

as when i speak, the meaning gets

lost behind my teeth, my lips.

the language of my ribs, my thighs,

words my brain can't understand,

delivered as precious as any hard

truth by my fingers, my hands.

swaying there on my hips, my feet,

silently but this dance of mine

is for you, like a declaration of love,

written in my shoulders, my spine.

reach out for me, my arms, my face,

and i will know better than any other thing,

know in my blood and my senses, 

sometimes some kind of ice cold and ancient

clarity grips my jaw and points my gaze,

and i look into a slip of possibility that feels

more real than any of my careful written days.

i hear myself say, in the voice of a woman older

and wiser, as she steps over my childhood’s grave:

it’s all going to be okay.

i know, then, with her fingers on my cheek

she speaks from somewhere later in my life,

so i believe her. and i know that it’s me.

even in years and when i need it twice