inthespacebetween

apology, your reflex: i tap your leg, & it falls out from your mouth, spills onto the ground, unsure where to go next. so what if my skin stings a little? if i sing off-key & you don't touch me for days, this all goes away. start again: i sleep on my right side, & part of me is desperate for the pain. don't worry; i always find it. my head spins. everywhere everything is a circle, never-ending. yet i can never go back to the beginning except against my will. good thing i have prepared it: my final love letter, meager inheritance. please, don't cut me open. i fear you know too much of me already. take your letter-opener dagger & leave me shut.

roadside trees paint the mountains purple, & oh, my lover, i have crossed the river into another state. i promise when i return home, i will be a waterfall in your arms. periwinkle flowers in deep green; iridescent dewdrops fall from the sky. can i bury myself in your eyes? will you let me lie where only you can see? press me like petals between your pages. for you i am soft: all ivy & no poison. let me climb your trellis & make a home of it. i am vine clinging to your foundation. tulip beds with mossy sheets & wild strawberry pillows. fill everywhere i'm hollow. i can't hide; you always find me. please, let me follow you into the golden sunset. honey light drips from you, & you are so sweet on my tongue. when i smile, you are all over my teeth.

these are the stories: men always looking back when they aren't meant to. all of it salt. all of it lost. all of it watered down, razed to the ground, unpaid cost. empty promise. empty threat. women alone in empty beds. empty sorry; no repent. purple acceptance. body maroon. hands in the shape of a bruise. lamplight mimicking moon. all lion, no lamb. uncertain legs trying to stand. falling past heaven straight to be damned. pillars built to break. blue eyes cry all the dead seas dry. all of it salt. all of it lost. burning star-crossed lovers fought. no answers, blue hellfire turning to permafrost. moonlight mimicking lamp. no lion, no lamb. blood red seas welling up from bone-dry land. drowning in the desert. licking salted wounds. men always looking back.

i saw you in the robin's eye, though it was not blue like eggs or pebbles or jay feathers. it was brown, like mine. how kind of you to gift your sight once you could no longer use it. i wonder if i'd know your eyes in someone else's face. if i pass them on the street, would they still recognize me? would they call like a distant dream; would they feel a river rush without ever knowing why? i saw you in the amber trees. your moth tattoos flew right past me. your moth body landed on my jeans. if that was you, tell me, please. were you the monarch butterfly? is it selfish if i wish you never had to give your body? i think of your parts still out there, living. connected to new dreams. seeing things you'd never seen. i should be grateful for your final gifts, even ones i did not receive. i saw you ten months ago. i saw you today. in the pink dawn, you called to me, but i turned away. i can't bear to look at you with no eyes in your face. if i see you again, will you forgive my being

i use you as a mirror, not knowing how warped & distorted i become when i take what's rightfully yours: the ability to see me as you really see me, not who i build myself to be in your eyes, not the role i step into, which you see right through anyway: the silver lies. when you turn to me, sunflower to sun, i hide. i build frame after frame after frame, look away, there is no one here to love or hate. the vanity is cluttered. everything on it i took from other people, usually without asking. over & over i am a thief. over & over i scream & watch the mirror shatter. over & over i watch you leave. over & over i watch you watching me. is it real? do you love what you see?

it's grief, now, all of it— everything that ever happens is part of the grief. maybe you look twice at the mirror; maybe you don't look at all. tell me, can you even see through this fog? can you breathe through it? will your ribcage hold the weight of your supernova heart or break apart trying? oh, how you're trying: waiting for a light morning that won't crush you as soon as you wake. waiting for an end to the loneliness you can't shake like a river waits for the sea. like i hope they're waiting for me. you're not sure what the waiting room looks like, but you know it must be.

where is the sunrise? i've waited for it all my life. thought i glimpsed it twice, thought i'd get it right, thought i'd out-truth the lies— still, it's only midnight. tell me, will i ever see you again? i'm terrified of the road ahead: all the crows lined up to witness the beginning of the end. all the mourning doves preparing to love me when i'm dead. will you attend my funeral at least a hundred times? how much must i carry once you get too tired? i don't know how to stop setting forest fires: i'll destroy everything that's mine. there is nothing that i own. what do you owe me? a smile in the darkness, the fireflies in your heart? will you never leave me if i put you in a jar? or take the first chance to run fast & far, to put two thousand miles, between us, on your car? when you look at the forest, do you see only trees? i see deer trails, bird nests, stones in the creek. me chasing you chasing me. will i ever stop waiting for people to leave?

the darkness in me hides itself well: curled up in the spaces between my ribs, clinging to my spine, but then it's right there, in plain view, in my eyes. always, always on the inside, always held tight, always mine. i'd hate to see anyone else hold it. i don't know if they could. it unfurls like an endless winter wood, the whole world one bleak, lifelong childhood. at night, i dream no one wants me on their team. i play alone. all my friends live in my head instead of down the road. when i reach the end of the sidewalk, i don't turn around; i step off. i wake & wonder who would choose me— probably everyone. would it be enough?