mid-air mumbles

pause. sigh. go. hi.

it will all be
okay. he said it
to me like he
meant it, but i could
see in his face
that he didn’t
know. i wanted him
to know, but i—
as always—knew
better…knew that
this was some sort of sincerity
i lacked.  i loved

him. in that tragic way
we sometimes do.  in
that way that causes
splintering.
like cracking a pigeon’s breastbone
during a tough
dissection. 
put some elbow into it.  and then
collapse.  faster than
you think.
like a perfect life
unraveling.

i smiled.  that tight kind
that happens when i’m
rescuing someone.  blinked
hard and sank.  inside,
not where he could
see.  i was always the one
who stood tall when
my knees were buckling. 
a tug, a squeeze, his arm
on my wrist.  i shook it clean. 
i would be alright.  the belief
mattered more than the ache
in my chest.  i felt light and warm like
bloody feathers
floating a gusty
blizzard.  again.

that room, now
so empty and
clean.  finally, mine
again.  i watched his
feet make clicks and
his hand turn
the knob.  felt the soft
down of her head and her
bright eyes watching
mine.  he didn’t.

i didn’t
get up.  didn’t
open the door.  didn’t
kiss him goodbye.  i
don’t do this.  i
don’t—goodbye is not
in here.  goodbye implies
choice, and that was not
mine.  i just
watched, like i had
so many others, and
stared straight ahead—waiting
for something i’ll never
understand.

i shook
at first, grabbed
the phone, and stared
at it.  watched
my world closely
to see if it
would boil.  it
didn’t.  i could
still breathe.  so, i stood
and locked the door. 

i didn’t
believe him when he
walked away.  it was just
another bruise to nurse
and examine.  another
indication of what is
wrong with alma.  another reason
why not.  another not good
enough.  i didn’t
want to. 

instead, i kept
my eyes shut and
the rooms dark.  i sat
and waited for something
else.  i let the wounds weep
on 16th, and i held on
to someone else till
the room stopped
spinning.

and then, i got up
again.  by myself. i
stitched the contusions
into resilient quilts, and i
kept myself warm.  and
it was.

—AIM, all rights reserved. 
Written on no sleep at 6 am this morning.  Took about two minutes.

Posted at 6:38pm and tagged with: full width, poetry, poem, love, relationships, okay, colorado, photo, photography, landscape, estes park, sunset,.

it will all beokay. he said itto me like hemeant it, but i couldsee in his facethat he didn’tknow. i wanted himto know, but i—as always—knewbetter…knew thatthis was some sort of sincerityi lacked.  i lovedhim. in that tragic waywe sometimes do.  inthat way that causessplintering.like cracking a pigeon’s breastboneduring a toughdissection.  put some elbow into it.  and thencollapse.  faster thanyou think.like a perfect lifeunraveling.
i smiled.  that tight kindthat happens when i’mrescuing someone.  blinkedhard and sank.  inside,not where he couldsee.  i was always the onewho stood tall whenmy knees were buckling.  a tug, a squeeze, his armon my wrist.  i shook it clean.  i would be alright.  the beliefmattered more than the achein my chest.  i felt light and warm likebloody feathersfloating a gustyblizzard.  again.
that room, nowso empty andclean.  finally, mineagain.  i watched hisfeet make clicks andhis hand turnthe knob.  felt the softdown of her head and herbright eyes watchingmine.  he didn’t.
i didn’tget up.  didn’topen the door.  didn’tkiss him goodbye.  idon’t do this.  idon’t—goodbye is notin here.  goodbye implieschoice, and that was notmine.  i justwatched, like i hadso many others, andstared straight ahead—waitingfor something i’ll neverunderstand.
i shookat first, grabbedthe phone, and staredat it.  watchedmy world closelyto see if itwould boil.  itdidn’t.  i couldstill breathe.  so, i stoodand locked the door.  
i didn’tbelieve him when hewalked away.  it was justanother bruise to nurseand examine.  anotherindication of what iswrong with alma.  another reasonwhy not.  another not goodenough.  i didn’twant to.  
instead, i keptmy eyes shut andthe rooms dark.  i satand waited for somethingelse.  i let the wounds weepon 16th, and i held onto someone else tillthe room stoppedspinning.
and then, i got upagain.  by myself. istitched the contusionsinto resilient quilts, and ikept myself warm.  andit was.
—AIM, all rights reserved. Written on no sleep at 6 am this morning.  Took about two minutes.