Conversations i never had
“Language” he said “its heartbreakingly impoverished but its all we got. Little words we string together like beads on thread then drape over one to another with some audacious hope that theyll have the slightest goddamn idea what it is we’re REALLY tryin to say - all our grand declarations, observations, our pleadings - the desperation of our questions. Dont none of it matter son. Its all jus brittle line - brittle line cast from one soul to the next.”
He wasn’t old then but his eyes had the look of someone old. Tired. Quietly resigned. He poured himself a shot of whiskey in an old stained coffee cup and stared down in the bottom a long while. He didn’t speak and i wondered if hed been born with those eyes.
“Language is poor” he finally said.
“Its why we crave metaphor. Why the melody never lets us jus sing it outright. Its ’cause words are poor my friend - and the only thing more lonely than breathin -
is having something to say”
vi.
he watched her in her deepest sleep;
for a moment he could swear he almost saw her breathe.
i. Before
1993: sitting at his step mother's house where she kissed him on the mouth and he almost touched her blouse.
ii.
1996: he kissed her neck and she cradled his head as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he laid her on her bed.
iii.
20 weeks: the house slept as her cancer repulsed and they sat together as her shoulders convulsed.
iv.
16 weeks: he remembered the dress she wore when her hair fell out in fistfuls to the floor and her mom said she was adorning; she burned that dress the next morning.
v.
8 weeks early: he clutched her hand and held her too close and she slipped away as her bones turned to shadows.
vi.
for a moment he could swear he almost saw her breathe.
Euthanasia
You named
the crystals
beneath
my skin
and I
the freckles
on your knees;
I kissed the
crease of
your chin
and
the amethysts
beneath
your cheeks.
You said,
the heterochromia
in your iris
is god's way
of trying
to make
you see
and
our bodies
were meant
for art
and a heart
lain across
our sleeves.
I wonder
if you see
phosphene
or if your lungs
are strong enough
to breathe.
I wonder
if you can
hear my prayers
or if you're
able to miss me.