Poems For D.

JUNE

Even now, as I write this,
you are on the phone—
your voice in my ear, a quiet song.
All the memories you hold, the stories you tell

We were together for two, apart for four
and now, here we are. Again.
Surprising ourselves with this thing we feel,
something breaking out of an old shell—
what we thought ruined and long dead
now fluttering back to life.

What do we do? How do we keep it this time?
What if it changes us? What if we fail, again?
“I love you. I’m here now”—
your voice cuts  through my thoughts and
I am certain, although I am too fearful to admit,
that it’s been you all along.

In all these years, over this brutal distance,
it’s been you and your tender touching,
you and your sweet loving,
you and your deep wanting,
you and your staying,
your staying—
Stay.

LONG DISTANCE

Somewhere between pressing the phone
against my ear and every reluctant goodbye
is your voice singing over everything—
our time apart, all the quiet nights
of missing you, and these numbered days
until touch, until my hand in yours,
until every eager word on your lips
is caught on my tongue.

PROMISES

1.     There will be laughter and sorrow, too

2.     There will be dancing and stillness, too

3.     There will be words and silence, too

4.     There will be much to give and much more to lose

5.     There will be a balm for wounds, and I fear, new bruises too

6.     There will be quiet days and long nights

7.     There will be changes flowing like a stream

8.     There will be my hand to hold

9.     There will be you and me.

10.  Always.

A Note for D: Welp. You’re in trouble now, my love. You are easily one of my favorite people to write about, and even then, I come face to face with the limitations of language when it comes to you. There will never be enough words for how you make me feel, so this is me standing at the edge, looking over what we’re building and grasping for words to pin down the memories, the small, fleeting moments, and to somehow trace the shape of your love, to glean out its music, and to be eagerly open to all that is possible for us—which is much, given our story. I hope you know that all the love on my pages leads to you, and you alone. You’re in the lines and the spaces in between. You're woven into every artistic expression: all the books, all the songs, all the poems. You will always have my attention, my wonder, my words - T.