tightrope wire walker crossing the sea

I don't know how to miss you.

The thought is salt water:

cold where it meets my eyelids;

rough against my shins 

as I brace against the tide. 

I have this idea 

of an alternate universe. 

I haven't let myself linger there 

for fear of a collapse,

like Alice,

down and down and down and 

never stopping

until the amphetamines whisper, 

"let's go home together." 

As if I could be yours and mine 

at the same time. 

As if I could play at being the most wanted person in the universe. 

As if everyone loved me. 

As if I was finally a creature 

made to be adored.

Darling, the pedestal I put you on

is the one I've never reached. 

I wonder what it would be like

to love you from such a height. 

on pointed toes

everything else remains

a distraction 

until we meet. 

the rain, the snow, the placid summer air

is not as kind as your arms 

as they pull me up 

against your chest. 

i thought in "never"

before this year. 

now, I think of you 

and rest in the salt water 

of your skin

as the day drips down your neck

and I am completely overcome.

the way you look at me

when the light is low. 

this. forever. 

The skull amongst the trees

How could you leave? 

The wind brings the sound of coyotes

and later,

you find the vertebrae in the deep brush. 

There is a softer side to you;

It's like leaning back fully into a chair

and feeling the weight press back, 

just enough

so you know that it's there. 

Later, I will wonder how you survive. 

I learn about how you are living

and I am suddenly pinned to my kitchen floor. 

Undo the balustrade and forgo support. 

As we trudge through the snow, 

I wonder. 

Who will be our spine, 

if you go? 

Form and space: Lyrical, staccato, chaos, waltz & stillness.

Here in this space 

I am a woman.

I command worlds. 

A creature

unwilling to bend

to the demands 

of sheet music.

Instead,

a lyrical birthright;

a tempest;

the rain. 

She sees herself in the mirror 

and knows. Just. Knows. 

Knows that her limbs 

are pieces of heaven. 

Fragments of a time 

when she was so young

she could not possibly 

remember. 

But her body does. 

Here, somehow. 

The beat, the rhythm. 

The floor moving as she 

jumps and stomps

again and again. 

A form and space 

to fall apart. 

A birthing. 

A splitting in two,

Doe-like and dear. 

I'll hold you

a little closer 

when the music starts

to let you go

more and more

in the staccato. 

The princess and the knight hold hands

Here in the land of discontent

you survived.

What a wonder

how you sparkle 

when so much of your light had been lost. 

Did you find shelter in some decrepit story from our childhood? 

Like Alice. 

Like so many others. 

When you're here 

I feel your fear 

like a deep thudding drum 

like wild open eyes 

like the sound of a gun 

and I don't know for certain

that you are safe here. 

You come to me in whispers and then 

a bang. 

And you pull at the edges of your sweater in a kitchen that feels like reprimand.

An echo. 

Of a time when you were hunted for sport. Of times when you still are. 

Where is your sister? The one who brings you in close. She gives you her hand and says, "you are plentiful and wanted." 

She has hair like spun gold that reminds you of basking in the summer sun. 

Her fingers feel like tent poles, 

something solid to hold onto when you are laid flat. 

Her face a thin line to others 

and to you, a smile like giggling under blankets in the cold of December. 

Does she wear armor, this older girl who looks like what others told you a boy was? 

Yes. Made from the dishes you vaguely recall. Was this the same wooden spoon you ate cookie dough off of? 

Is this the bowl that held the heaping pasta, passed around the table?

What is it doing here, you wonder, 

eyes flashing. 

What are you doing here, sister, who never was?