it’s 3am,
and i’ve moved my writing
apps
to the second page,
so I can swipe once more
before tapping this glass
or
stopping to let the words find me
while I
sit and stare, and watch gravity
keep me here.
-
it’s 3am,
-
pantera quinceañera
you turn away, watching the world around us that rarely changes. but you scan, ears forward, until you slink into your paws. sounds—creaks or the starting of a new lullaby replayed yet again—shake you up, waiting to pounce or scurry.
now I know you find comfort in my comfort, in being close enough to guard but not too close to not dart if called by some noise or internal timer I never hear ticking. you are my cat mother: five-times-over a lady now, giving proximity and concern and warmth as nourishment for me, your lonely kit.
you’d rather I rest my hand on you than guide it through your fur, over the dormant springs under your fluff. you love through awareness, through being known and heard and seen and not forgotten, as though you fight with not having a choice in losing your Castor. and I am sorry, and you know it, and we mourn to be able to move on while staying fully still.
-
you’re the reason
I don’t know what i’m crying for.
what do I want changed?
what do I want new?
I want to remember who we were
when ends never met and
I hurt you with my anger.
I want to hold you now
and stop myself then.
you deserve what we have,
and i’m not sure I thought we’d
ever get here.
you loved me behind the counter
of a Walmart, of a Blockbuster;
you drove me and picked me up
an hour each way.
you are my reason and my rock
and I don’t give a shit about headshots
if you ain’t in em with me, cuz
you’re the reason people want em.
-
one, two,
time tells me it’s moving,
while i’m stuck here bleeding out.
trying to find that last second
then one more
and maybe another or…
a few thousand, i’m not sure,
but i’ll start counting now.
-
she runs around me,
she runs around me,
arms swinging.
tooth-missing grins
telling me she’s living
where we are and
i’m just staring
past the mirror of my screen.I miss this little girl. I love her so much.
-
in the foyer
we went from a peephole,
to a sidelight,
to prismed glass.“thank you,
God,”
we said, standing
in the foyer
of our home.