I’ll be back. I’ll be back. I’ll be back. I want to promise.
I wonder what a year means, think of me thin like a mirror–don’t you remember living so small? My cheeks are the bellies of robins full of winter breath. I open my eyes and today looks like yesterday but maybe a little warmer, the kind of spring where salamanders hide under leaf piles and I search for them like an unsure surprise, spend hours looking, find nothing, know I was likely inches away. I try to picture a year, six months in one half my thoughts, six months in the other. I get lost some time in September, am not sure I even made it past may. I remember the heron and wish I knew the answers, try to place myself under her open wings, the long twigs of her legs, tucked under like a rudder, sailboat on the Chesapeake, a note from my grama in my hand, try to convince myself I’m headed toward something.
[feeling lost, turning 25, shitty relationship, applying to grad school^]
I wish I still knew how to write. When I’m 25, maybe I’ll write every day. Maybe I’ll become a teacher. Maybe I’ll learn to love without being afraid. Maybe I’ll wash the dishes right after I use them. Maybe I’ll remember to be Jenny.
it hits me hard in the chest
suddenly, boulder falling then
ash around my heart
the world blurs in a pain this thick. I can’t see my feet walking straight on, my throat choking on each breath wet with fear I fell asleep under.
[shitty girlfriend told me she was pregnant, subsequent breakup angst^]
We learn each other carefully. I draw a map on your back with my lips and fingertips. I want to see the places your heart has been, walk through forests of your words and see the light coming through the leaves. You light up the burnt edges of me and name them beautiful. Your arms open as wide as this galaxy and your gravity pulls me, weightless still.
Last Friday morning I woke to the arch of you next to me, sunrise kissing your hip, thin sheet draped beneath your spine. I took in the perfect lines of you, tried to memorize the cartography of your sleep; you stirred a bit and I wondered your dreams, fell back asleep thinking A—-, am not afraid to use your name because I want to trust like a person who hasn’t broken yet. You make me feel like I haven’t broken. Do you know how long it’s been since I was seen? Do you know how whole I feel with you next to me?
[name (ironically) removed for privacy. maybe falling in real love for the first time ever and being scared but vulnerable//learning how to write again^]
How have you all been?