About You, Reflects Me
About You, Reflects Me
To walk to a mirror,
stand in front of it,
and climb in
is to
write about you
and the only thing
more ridiculous
than thinking that poetry
would get me anywhere
is the realization that you
have read every single one.
Appreciation,
recognition,
or determination
couldn’t describe
what it’s like
to encounter someone
who has had your back
when the lights go black;
“What do you do?”
“I do this thing
with my days,” I say.
“Where I get up
before the sun
and sit back down to dream,
it’s knocking down doors
on this keyboard,
but before the coffee gets cold
I take a break
and go to work,
allow my mind to reset
like a computer update,
and when I get back home
the oven timer dings,
fresh and ready
for me to have another taste.”
“Busy then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” you say.
“It doesn’t seem
like you have time
for anything else to fit in.”
It’s been a while
since I’ve been to a tailor
to measure how much space
my life takes up,
thoughts spill out over my pants
causing me
to no longer be able to see
where it is my pee
comes from
or the shirt
that no longer buttons
up at the neck
because my breathing
has become restricted
by a stack of books in my apartment
that have multiplied
like a mouse
in heat.
Is it a contradiction to think
that as we get older
most of what matters shrinks,
or does
love
actually
mean
more than a British movie?
The definition being buried
deep inside of me
and if that is true
then it’s gotta be
inside of you, too.
The Book of Matthew,
“Who of you
by worrying
can add a single hour to his life?”
Today is next year,
tomorrow is yesterday,
and it’s in letting go
that it all becomes clear;
but, I don’t want it to become like street sweeping day,
I go out with the broom truck
to do my work
and you
follow behind me in time
to ticket those in the way,
because Honey,
I’m more like John Wayne
in that I need
the ability to be free;
and I don’t know if that
will ever change.