Old MacDonald

It's not that I'm trying to
convince you to come
home, or make you feel
guilty for missing me
grow, or even remind you
of what you're losing
out on. It's just that I
miss you, more than I
could have ever hoped,
unavoidable at best, and
desperate at worst. And
sometimes I just wish
I could call you after a
bad day, or have tea with
you on a rainy Sunday,
or share my greatest
moments with you.

But you've chosen another life,
other children,
and not me.

Champion

You are my second
thought in the morning,
my first phone call,
my last conversation
before slipping into
sleep, where you are
my champion above
a hundred others, and my
forever-first-choice,
always chasing after
me, and never outrunning
me. You are my constant
reminder of faithfulness,
example of grace and
embodiment of strength,
my hand to hold when
mine are shaking, and
lover of all my broken
parts. You are the only
human on this wide earth
who knows my biggest
secrets, the first one
I write poems about,
and the last voice
I want to hear.

Another poem about you,
and the hope for a thousand more.

Dogwood

Just take me to the river,
I'll pick my bouquet on
the way down, while you
twist dogwood into bands
big enough for our left
ring fingers, and the birds
can be our witnesses as
the rushing water ushers
us into this matrimony
of joy, and then we can
run with the birch trees,
lay on a quilt of crisp
leaves, and fall into love.

And then eventually,
we will sleep.

Wednesday

Sleeping on the subway
while you're driving into
work, on a rainy Wednesday
morning, cities apart.
I dream that you're with me,
sitting in the seat next
to mine, holding my hand
as I doze off, lulled by the
motion of the train. But
you are somewhere else,
not too far but far enough
for me to feel the absence
in my chest, and I open my
eyes to see an asian
grandmother in your seat.
I retreat to my dreams, of
rainy mornings with you,
only to be called back
by an announcer who informs
me that I've arrived at
Union station.

I sigh, and count the hours
until I can feel close to you.

Rockies

Let's take our blankets 

and our summer clothes 

pack them up in canvas 

bags and drive until we 

reach the mountains. 

Because honey, this 

subway car can't fit 

my heart, and these 

streets can't bear my 

restless feet any longer, 

and without your 

hand to keep me on 

the ground, I am most 

certainly a flight risk. 

Honey, let's go to the 

shores of every ocean, 

and make wishes on 

skipping stones, and 

camp under wild skies, 

until we find ourselves 

a home. 

With your red truck 

and my ragged map 

let's find ourselves 

a home. 

Ursa Major

You were in a better place once,
when your medication
balanced you out quite nicely,
and your hands didn't shake
too much. You could still play
piano, alone in the basement
beside the laundry room,
where no one could hear your
cursing, as you tried to sight read
Bach. You socialized with people
who were tolerably normal,
but understood your tendency
to miss weeks of school,
and welcomed you back with
cheering, and spent hours
making you laugh. But now you
only show up to take tests and
sit in desk chairs, no piano
stools or late-night trips
to the woods, telescope in
tow, and when you hold your
pen, it shakes like a leaf in
a gale-force wind, knocking
out your ability to steady
yourself on anything sound.
And I weep for you knowing
that no sweet word can combat
the sourness in your heart,
and no amount of love can
heal your weary mind--
at least none that our human
hands can offer you.

I only pray that someday soon
you are able to look at stars again.

Magician

He reached into the
hat and pulled out
my name in order to
show me that the
choice was more than
his own. But what
he forgot to mention
is that the hat was
full to the brim with
pieces of paper with
no one else's name
on them but mine.

Canary

I love that we can
measure the duration
of our love affair in
chapters of the Bible,
each one a week,
with hour-long
phone calls about
what James meant when
he said "count it all joy",
and 6am wake up calls
to pray while we're still
in bed. I love that we
can calculate the depth
of our love in the minutes,
hours, and days, that we
refrain from holding
each other, endless miles
keep us apart, but
only in physical distance
because you live in the
cabin of my heart and
I am a bird in your ribcage.

I swing and you smoke,
but we both sing.