Refuge

Every Time and Every Thing

I want to be someone you find in a bookstore
yelling and jumping and waiving my arms
fan-girling over some author or book you’ve never read,
one you’ve never even heard.

I want every time we meet to be the first time
I see you after a long vacation or years 
of going to school in a different state. 

I want everything to be a first edition holographic shadowless Charizard card from 1999. 

I want my reactions to be based on me finding this card at a garage sale for a quarter. 

I will hold the card in my hand
maybe even both hands
close to my chest
I won’t look at another table
I won’t pick anything else up
I’ll just go to the owner and give him a dollar
tell him to keep the change
I don’t care
then run to my car and cry.

I want you to be the one that makes me feel that way.

12:02:51

I am sleeping on an air mattress
I am carving the days into the dresser

I am keeping count of the days
I am scratching incoherent symbols
        that represent the amount of hours
        I’ve laid on thin rubber and sections of air

I am slipping the knife from my hands
I am letting it slide along my upside-down arm

I am thankful it is not cutting my arm but
I am imagining that it is anyway

11:53:33

I came to you on a cold night
a lonely night where the wind
shook the windows and the 
snow created a sleekness
that I had not yet seen in the 
random Missouri landscapes

My nose was cold
and my fingers too
so cold I couldn’t
answer the phone
when you called 
me back asking
if I had walked
down the block
far enough to see
your house on the
corner of Walnut Street

I stood waiting for you
at an awkward intersection
and looked at the stars
winking brighter than during
the summer or fall

When you finally showed up 
you brought hot chocolate
and we sat on the frozen
school merry-go-round
slowly spinning under the 
idea that if we turn
opposite of the Earth’s rotation
we’ll stop time and stare
at the stars, your hand 
innocently and barely touching
my own, and the morning
will only come when we
decide the sun may rise
and we’ll go home only
when we’re ready.

11:51:04

I’m biting my fingers
not the nails
but the skin on each side

it is softer and not as sharp

I don’t know how many more times
I will be told to stop or see my cratered fingertips
in the shower before I go cold turkey

11:45:40

I saw you beneath the street light
some trick of the mind
my eyes chasing the idea of you
still alive

I passed slowly and almost waved
I said hello so quickly
that I didn’t believe I said it at all
you know how that is

When someone walks by 
and you are nervous and not making eye contact
and they surprise you by speaking
and now you have to speak

Such is the life of the introvert
I understand that now
I wish I would have said more
or less

How much of what we say
is relevant
how much of what you didn’t say
needed to be heard

The Spelling Bee

           - As interpreted by a poet

Paper-cut

A letter you once wrote
that broke
my heart.

Paper-cut.
Butterfly

A catalyst in a T.V. show,
an imaginary swarm within your stomach, and
something occasionally eaten by ants.

Butterfly.
Clockwork

The sixty beats
of my heart
in one minute and
every time I kiss you
when you cry.

Clockwork.
Lion-heart

A movie from 1990,
a king, and
that kid you once knew
who jumped off a bridge
into shallow water
and lived.

Lion-heart.

I will take you to Carthage and kiss you on the unmarked graves of soldiers from the Civil War

There is a clearing where I can kiss you

It is away from the road and next to a small stream

The grass is short and you can hear birds and the laughter of children

Sometimes there is a train and it is loud but it makes it that much better