On small gifts (a bonus)

these are all arranged excerpts from a journal I’d written when I was 18, circa 2008:
because you were in the news today and my breath tightened
hoping you were safe
back when your dog was three-legged and we kissed on christmas eve, alone in a cold world where every light was red and lingered.
and we exploded fireworks in the backyard at dusk.

I just left my mother’s house. We had medium-rare cookies and nobody left crying, so,
All in all, a good beginning to an evening of questions.
I have movies, I have a neverending supply of peanut brittle and limeade.
I have snark and lust and overuse the phrase ‘wowzers’
So let’s make a deal.
And we leaped out of the car at the same time, two sets of parallel footprints
to dance to Suite: Judy Blue Eyes in the middle of a blizzard with the gas light on.
Two people dancing invisible near the precipice of a storm that could consume us
or let us pass swiftly by and then our hands got cold,
and I grabbed his hands and I looked at them,
Clear and knotted to mine.
Inside my body there was an internal NOTHING going on and exploding, and the world told me
I sang low and slow to him,
He breathed his brilliance inside of me.
And the only thing I really had control over was the quickness of my grasp and even that was fading away like voices in a storm.

Later I stomped into my mother’s house and announced, ‘The snow was integral to my plan!’ but nobody cared because nobody was home and for theatrical effect, I screamed ‘damn you!’ into the wilderness but my face was still red from smiling.


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