-To you, for whom poetry seems to distance-
It’s been a year
And I didn’t think I’d still get these pangs
In the same way a stab wound is.
Or the intense screaming of your lungs as you’re underwater for far too long.
I was worried I’d no longer love you.
And that you’d still care for me and I’d be confused.
And now I barely see you but when I do I still know you and the smile that comes
Doesn’t stop at the mouth.
It hurts, and it keeps on hurting as suddenly I remember the sheer joy of this all.
Eye contact and snorts through noses that communicate whole sentences
But not the ones I want to hear.
Or don’t want to hear.
I do love now, but I’m not in love.
And that first time we kissed I was thinking not of her but of your smile and laugh and freckles and
The way you nod your head and fall and swim and laugh, giggle, cry, love.
Everything I still look for
The bottom of glasses
And the dregs of hot chocolate.
The falling leaves and flower bunches.
In wooden spoons, in woollen throws, in blasting wind on stormy nights in
Two man tents as the stars spin overhead, and the sun rises.
Camera lenses and those books you love to read but stumble over out loud.
Car rides and muddy boots in Autumn’s mud under blue skies and stormy ones.
A fierce defiance of wrongs that need righting and the curse of knowledge that those like us are Looking for things that do include
This sadness that drags me upwards for fear that when we meet again that I might not
Still be the person you cared for.
And god help me with this guilt, I love you and I said I’d never say this but
I hope you feel as sad as I do.
I have to believe you do sometimes, for now at least, selfish as it is.
I hope you would understand, and not pity me but be proud as I get the strength to
Live as we both want to.
Maybe this is why it is this way. I say I, and we and us and
Forget that they’re unimportant words.