To Begin:
Asleep in your arms, even if just a wish
I awoke to a letter from your father
sewn onto the pillowcase beside me
Please take care of my little boy, he wrote
especially when the days get shorter
and the leaves begin to die
He glows inwardly and you glow out
and together you illuminate my darkness
Under the Pale Shafts of the Moon:
I stashed the letter deep in your voice box
and could feel the whole world tense up
inside your chest
When I tried to take the letter back
I reached into your throat
and pulled out a river instead
I guess we better build a boat, you said
Upon Starting Construction:
I hammered your name in nails
across my chest
and noticed that the object you were building
looked more like a coffin than a boat
No matter, I thought,
both will carry us
both will float
On That Note:
Burying grief is like swallowing dynamite
after it’s already been lit
I would rather navigate a thousand storms
than ponder regret
I would rather drive for hours on the hottest day of the year
in a car without air conditioning
than not be the one who gets to pick you up
But now I am Digressing:
Emotional restraint is for anchormen and pilots
I type so I don’t explode
The point is:
I feel safe with tools in my hand
I feel free when I use my words
Now hear this:
I will never help you put nails in that coffin
not even if you tell me that we’re dead
In Conclusion:
The river is the fear.
We can sail above it.
