126.

building stair steps from my screen porch upward
to a silver moon, bare feet blue-washed in starlight
shoulder blades spreading outward
through my arms and fingertips with feathers
growing wings and walking skyward
in a midnight clear as day

you are like fresh air
in a good dream

Trial and Error

I am trying to stir you into my tea, in with the honey and the chamomile. Trying to fold you into my winter clothes, trying to work you into the dough of me to see what kind of bread we will make. I have been looking for someone like you and I am trying you on like an Easter dress, and will you kiss my curves and skirt my hips or will you press my ribs too tightly? It is hard to know how you fit until I start to sweat. Until I taste you in my tea and in my bread crust, until I wake up tomorrow refreshed or hungover. All I want is to taste relief in your mouth. To push my arms through yours like sweater sleeves. But just wait until August comes, and it's coming fast. And I will start to melt, and I will shrug you off. And the time for tea will have passed, and I will kiss some other lemonade mouth instead.

How To Start Again

get in touch with that feet-in-the-mud
feeling, that fist-against-mirror hard sting again
remind yourself what it is to ignite
to brawl and to crash and to embrace
and to write it all down

bring fresh flowers into your study
bring dead insects and bottle caps
the empty smoke bombs he left in the yard
and you found them like fairy treasure the next day
before you knew what was under his skin

and then remember what was under his skin
what you felt when he scraped himself into you
how livid you were, how purple-cheeked
bring the bile back up your throat
and then write it all down

get in touch with your whiskey-drenched nights
only leave the whiskey out this time
get in touch with what you hated
and what you craved, what you choked on
the things you've put in drawers by now

remind yourself what they tasted like
what it was to be miserable and ecstatic
collect your wildfires and your chest pains
the pieces of you that ache and dream
carve a space for them

keep them sacred, give them air
nurture your hunger and your terror
cultivate your joy and do not forget your hate
get in touch with what has been simmering in your gut
dig into the earth of yourself again

and whatever you do
you must write it all down