because the story must be told
for the fourth time
in my time
I have watched him wither
and
whither or not he goest
he speaks of it
for hours
(days)
of litany
I no longer say
do not go
(he will not go)
and we will go on
happily
reading and saying
and doing
until he does
go
my eyes are brown
yours are blue
that’s good too
this poem needs work
it’s true
I planted seeds
that never grew
I woke up blue
I spilled my coffee
there were consequences, and
there was residue;
1991 was more than our hearts–
It was a shroud, a relic
something to be compressed
and worn around my neck
I never hated Mondays
like he did
this do-over
this fresh, rain-soaked
village of a day
last night’s dog day
in sweaty angry silence
melted into sweet morning
lime tea words
over cups, with a
steamy cover of regrets
and guitar strums balm
we cannot have it back
can we, that sweet
close smell of together
amidst shooting stars–
stepping out of our place
to face the world
again, with secrets
is it me on your mind
when this song plays–
1989 is a meteor
and all our hopes
have got to be enough
to shield us, if
you do not turn to salt
I want to hold you back
replace the air mattress
with a comfy bed
and all your favourite things
I want to hold you back
but that is not what you want
or need
and I want what you want
a boy left home
and became
a man of two shores
weaving threads
not as complicated
as we like to make it
strangling good sense
we never come out on top
but
the pot is always
boiling
I can’t sleep
every thing he said
swirls around
in a foamy mess
like clouds
looks like rain
awake
the birds are early
they must know something
besides the dark
how peaceful to listen
to know God hears
every lonely chirp
from my heart
feels like summer here
sweating all our regrets
drinking gallons of hope
