Work Text:
i have measured
the attention of life like a limelight on a stage
and i have said:
my grief waits for you. it will wait for yours to end.
and you don’t ever end.
now,
read that line again.
what did you see? a “but” or an “except”?
you interpret words and intentions like dreams:
wildly. your heart only pointing you in one direction.
you’re teaching me the capacity of the human heart.
to say it stretches means that whatever grows must shrink.
you are not made worse for what overcomes you
no matter how you try to drown yourself to give others reprieve.
i will be the third set of arms to encase you.
the general of the sands, the keeper of the forest
go first. they bridge the physical distance with their desire
to intercept you. to keep you from your own rivers.
i’ll be the hands at the end of the day
that you beg to wrap around your throat.
i have measured
my own grief by holding out my fingers
and watching them tremble.
i measure yours by the lack.
and i know how much guilt you feel
every morning,
donning your gold necklace, your earrings.
but should a bird of paradise
apologise
for his decadent plumage? her wings, iridescent?
i love you with what i say
and the things i do.
every annoyance. every scrimmage.
trust what you see and not the shadows i cast.
let’s personify ourselves
while your fingers pluck the oud
and i trace the lines in my book alongside.
wine and coffee;
your tears into my neck;
walls unlined with portent.
but i have said,
i will unmake your allegories until the butterflies in your stomach
turn back into feelings.
i will, have, and now make you
read those lines again.