this is how

May 1st, 2017 § 0 comments

there are bones in the back of your car,

rattling as you shift gears, turning out of our driveway.

linger on, says the stereo, says

the window down, says the

bright pike ahead of us. linger on.

 

this is how I met you

 

for weeks we unpack ourselves

under waterfalls or on our way to them

this is where I’m from you tell me

pointing to your grandmother

to the tulip poplar

to the tattooed armadillo

 

this is how I know you

 

in the winter you bring everything green

inside, spilling it across the floor. limbs &

twigs & flowers boughed across your

lap, nesting & weaving. you look

up at me smiling.

 

this is how I remember you

 

and that day in the kitchen, the

window cracked open, water boiling.

you came home different, emerging from

a night of ugly truths & hard lines, where you

refused to do anyone else’s emotional labor,

refused to be called back to sleep.

from now on you said. from now on.

 

this is how I met the fire in you

(this is how I met the fire in me)

 

from now on, you say, your boot pushing

the shovel into the soil. you’re bringing all of the

green outside, eager & abundant, the honeysuckle

thick as rain. you cultivate the small & sweet, the

beautiful, the resilient:

blooming

pivoting

deepening

 

this is how you come alive.

 

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