Before opening up my journal’s pages, I feel it necessary to say that I don’t normally do this. I’m not a particularly private person, but what follows is quite personal and I don’t take to posting this here lightly. Mostly, I think, I seek to pin these bits and pieces here as a form of catharsis. I am healing, you see, and words are one of the few ways I know how to bandage a wound.
I spent the last year in love with a figment made of telephone wires and airplane wings. A love built out of suspended sounds, touches too quick to disappear and memories too lovely to be absolutely trusted. Below is a collection of words written over the course of a year spent loving and longing a faraway heartbeat. These are words sewn permanently somewhere in the hollow of my ventricles. These are words wonderful, destroyed, delicate, imaginary, and true. These are the words making up a heart strong, wounded, and learning now how to resuscitate.
3.18.2009 — on a plane heading westward (NYC –> DSM)
You struck my lightning and left
traces of your pitch
pared in my bones and wet pain
played through my gulf stream veins–
water without a lifeboat–
your palpitations reverberate off buildings
as mine whisper fiercely in a faraway wind.
4.30.2009 — in the middle of America
You are my sticky sweet finger wings
reaching through the breeze to bend my body
fold my limbs
wrap my veins in you
5.21.2009 — in heat of the desert sun
Mountain me gold and silver,
gardens of a spirit seeking Shiva,
and find me weaving freckles into place
where we lay the beams of foreign fleeing stars
bracing the steaming earth.
Opal me my Cherokee lover and feather flesh wounds mighty…
Teach me your tactics and flood me with the secrets weaved around eyelids thick…
7.7.2009 — on the road in Oregon
Ghosts will trace us to gods fingertips
hammering at the brass maps guiding our glass wings.
Clang, clang, cling
Sounds tapping like raindrops striking a reflection,
mirror me deep, deep deep in you.
Take me in your tusks to the tips of mountains
and peaks of seas.
Let me dampen and flake with wet earth and fruit,
soft a pulse perfumed in dirt berry.
He isn’t here, but he surrounds me, is entwined in the hairs of my arms and the breezes cooling my skin, always.
8.27.2009 — in Des Moines
Like moss sticking in a hue of golden green,
a wet stone shining in mornings orange light,
Like feathers waving and weaving over skin,
Like a shape shifting through pale water seas,
raising the hair grazing your arm and the curve of your neck,
Like a taste of salt leftover in my mouth,
the linger of sea teasing my taste-buds,
Like this and everything,
I am tangled up in love with you.
Though my skin stays damp and oily
in a color glowing lonely
I ask you to ignore the stillness in the morning
where our bodies lay both alone.
…curl up in an ache like ligaments pinching,
this is where loneliness sleeps
the space in already weakened muscles
folded with aspirin…
10.20.2009 — on a plane leaving San Francisco
There was a mountain we were building when we met
and where clouds unfurled meet metal wings, the daylight
reminds me that we have yet to try to live in steel.
And as fog billows a blanket along my surface,
there I swoon–silk has been sewn into your fingertips
clutching at my hips.
Shock me electric, shake me a shiver to remember you by…
11.24.2009 — in Minneapolis for Thanksgiving
I worry he has forgotten what it is to be in love with me…
He never denied the difficulty of our love.
2.16.2010 — sitting in Newark International Airport
I hear you cooing in the tender leafed thicket and am reminded by sounds and snow piles that winter is still in you. The dry skin itched red from wind wanes when the sun drips down through your tawny branches and when rain beads the tips of your eyelashes, when the thaw coats the sidewalk wetting your toes, then we will know it is spring.
Before I dream I see lightning flashes to remind me that your storm is coming though you will be nowhere in it.
4.1.2010 — in Iowa
Like a fever, I can almost feel the slow fate of our love through the receiver.
There is a powerful storm whirling outside. Rain water is beating against my window and lightening flashes are strobbing against my eyelids. It’s violent, chaotic, and slightly comforting to a spectator with shelter. I want to tell you about this as I watch it from my bed. I want you to call me so I can, but you won’t because you haven’t called me in a long time. Because we don’t seem to talk like we used to or maybe because we don’t seem to care as much. I’m not really sure what’s happened to us.
My lungs were shipwrecked in the morning as breaths were made wet. A flood of crystalline streams down cheekbones, the dams burst first with the sunrise…
…Every shower is a baptism as I try to purge any remnants of you still etched in my bones and as I dry, I feel the muscle of my heart toughen like the belt tightening around my lungs.