she
her kisses tear into me
like rainbow laser starfish.
point first.
they open me
but do not wound me.
she is like the deepest breath inside me.
her words tear into me.
she has this terrible gift
of freedom and of frankness.
she wields it like a zen master
uses his sword
or like the the storm cloud
uses thunder.
she is like lightning.
she says whatever she feels
in the moment.
sometimes her words
are as sweet
as remembered saturdays
and sometimes they are as dangerous
as time
and sometimes as hard to grasp
as air.
then
she starts to sing.
her songs remind me of
so many things
that no one should ever forget
that i could write
a hundred pages
and it would not be worth
one note.
oh! what joy
when we make noise
together.
i learn so much from our friendship.
she says
“even though you do not have a good voice
you have really good ears.”
and
“you have this gift of singing exactly the right song
at exactly the right moment.”
“you don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you?”
the truth is
her mere existence
makes me sing
and dance.
she is not sunny all the time
or always warm
and fair.
she is like the weather.
always changing.
sometimes she picks up all sorts of debris
in her cyclone winds.
she moves things.
waters things.
she can be a single
raindrop
and she can be a
tsunami.
she has this wonderful quality
of openness and tenderness.
she tells me
“i am attracted to everyone today.”
she speaks to me
of boys that she finds hot and sweet
and fascinating.
i tell her
that i love
her freedom and her openness
and that i do not want to change them.
i tell her
i love my own freedom and openness
and that i do not want to change them.
she kisses me
and her kiss is warm and wet
and full of love
and makes me swerve the car
into the opposite lane.
she says
“i’m still afraid that when i tell you things like that
you will get jealous.”
and i say...
i don’t remember what i said.
but i was surprised
to catch her thinking
about how her words
might land
inside me.
she takes me
without possessing me
and holds me
without containing me.
she says
“i love you a lot, but...”
pauses
“you don’t fulfill me.”
pauses again.
“i don’t know if anyone can fulfill me.”
she plays with me
like a cat plays
with a catnip mouse.
and sometimes
like a lioness.
we have snowball fights
pillow fights.
we both love to
play.
i’m not afraid of her
even though i know
how deeply
she can hurt me.
i’m not afraid of her
even though i know
how deeply
she can heal me.
that, in itself, is remarkable.
she says
“i may not always be this open to you.”
i say
“you mean your not dead yet?”
“you’re still alive?”
“you’re still changing?”
i remember
too much death and goodbye.
i tell her
i am already so much richer
for the times that we have shared.
she says
“i like hearing your stories
but mostly i like making new stories together.”
she pulls me in to hold her.
she pushes us apart.
she says
“don’t you think
that you’re too old for me?”
i ask her if she thinks
that i’m to old for her.
maybe i am too old for her.
i tell her i don’t want to think about that
because if i did
it would make me get older.
she says i remind her
of Peter Pan.
she says i take her
to Never Never Land.
she says
in the end
after three shining days
“don’t think
just because you got in my pants
yesterday and today
that it means you will get in them tomorrow
or next week
or next month.”
i say
that i know that
but i feel sad
that she needs to say it.
how tired i am
really.
sleep.
when we part
she is in costume,
a painted doll.
her eyes shine
but she says
“don’t hug me.”
i understand.
don’t want to break
the shell.
my eyes don’t follow her
this time
as she walks away.
only my mind
is distracted.
later, before bed
she calls to plan a time
for me to wake her up
to go to church together.
just before she hangs up
she says,
“i love you.”
12/28/2008