I remember waking from a dream of you--removed-shaken--you clung to me the remainder of the day as a thistle tucked alongside my Vena Cava
(strangely unsettling and comforting that was)
I remember eating cherry pie in my grandmother's kitchen as the evening light trickled onto the yellow formica tabletop--shimmering the cherries to gold
I remember the pain that removed me from my body
I remember writing poetry on a bus ride from Denver to Spearfish--patterns of moonlight on blue snow
I remember the stolen delight each time I would sneak into my mother's room and look into her wardrobe--neatly folded lingerie, sweaters smelling of Tabu--a woman's things
(how distant that time felt--foreign & mysterious)
I remember the first time he kissed me--the fit of his lips--the linear steel of his body against my own fragility
(the immediate undeniable familiarity of this home)
I remember the smell of fresh cut grass and the press of him upon me with stars above and voices hollering our names on a summer night thick with fireflies & surrender
I remember the god-damn time that black Shetland pony bite me
I remember hunting for leaves down a treelined country road with my mother--I was five
I remember how otherworldly cold you were--that last night in your hospital room when I lay next to you watching ER--I tucked your legs in as I left. You were ice. You died the next morning. How easy that grief still rises--a swirling mass of fine-grained magma
I remember dreams of pursuit & captivity--skyscrapers, gray skies, the hollowness of displacement
I remember joy bursting thru every molecule of my being when the wait was over
I remember walks around the park with my grandfather--we spoke to one another without words
I remember losing myself to numbness, inattention
I remember forgetting
I remember remembering the vastness of my mind as I woke to my tattered & aged self
I remember the crimson thread of time--nonlinear quantum glass plains
I remember you & him & moments steeped in the azure violet hues of this day
This day--I remember
(strangely unsettling and comforting that was)
I remember eating cherry pie in my grandmother's kitchen as the evening light trickled onto the yellow formica tabletop--shimmering the cherries to gold
I remember the pain that removed me from my body
I remember writing poetry on a bus ride from Denver to Spearfish--patterns of moonlight on blue snow
I remember the stolen delight each time I would sneak into my mother's room and look into her wardrobe--neatly folded lingerie, sweaters smelling of Tabu--a woman's things
(how distant that time felt--foreign & mysterious)
I remember the first time he kissed me--the fit of his lips--the linear steel of his body against my own fragility
(the immediate undeniable familiarity of this home)
I remember the smell of fresh cut grass and the press of him upon me with stars above and voices hollering our names on a summer night thick with fireflies & surrender
I remember the god-damn time that black Shetland pony bite me
I remember hunting for leaves down a treelined country road with my mother--I was five
I remember how otherworldly cold you were--that last night in your hospital room when I lay next to you watching ER--I tucked your legs in as I left. You were ice. You died the next morning. How easy that grief still rises--a swirling mass of fine-grained magma
I remember dreams of pursuit & captivity--skyscrapers, gray skies, the hollowness of displacement
I remember joy bursting thru every molecule of my being when the wait was over
I remember walks around the park with my grandfather--we spoke to one another without words
I remember losing myself to numbness, inattention
I remember forgetting
I remember remembering the vastness of my mind as I woke to my tattered & aged self
I remember the crimson thread of time--nonlinear quantum glass plains
I remember you & him & moments steeped in the azure violet hues of this day
This day--I remember
