I’d take you to the beach
(let me make it
crystal clear),
but I’m afraid you’d fuck up
how I like
to disappear.
I want to be transparent,
dissolve in
salt in sea,
and not embody
your physical
perception of me.
So if I seem
a little slow
with your invitation,
it’s just me trying
to forget this
entire incarnation.
One hint of abandonment
and the same six traumas,
one mean joke
and the same six traumas,
one call with family
and the same six traumas,
one day without nutrition
and the same six traumas,
one drink too many
and the same six traumas,
one bad dream
and the same six traumas,
one hand in the wrong place
and the same six traumas.
When I’m ready to vomit
at the persistence of those
same six traumas,
I remember I can count them
on my fingers and six of anything
can be disarmed, made harmless
in the light of my
innumerable joys—
the smooth flight
of a new bike chain,
the fluid cursive
of a lover’s letter,
the third coffee
of a wide open day,
the light steps taken
in new running shoes,
the heavy canvas bags
after the farmers’ market,
the secondhand watch
that keeps perfect time,
the unexpected warmth
of a late winter afternoon,
the cold floral mist
of an early spring morning,
the new, green leaf
of a yellowing houseplant,
the glass of cold water
when the body is only asking
for cold water,
the full glass of wine
on a morning bedside table
because sleep came easily,
the complete relief
of four continuous minutes
with a quiet mind,
the deep sleep that turns
anxiety into understanding,
the right words that come
when they’re needed,
the makeshift bridge across
a hidden forest creek…
(To be continued
indefinitely.)
Let’s have toast
while the world ends.
Let’s argue harmlessly whether
this coffee shop is a church,
whether our barista is a pastor.
Let’s have tea in the sun
as a handful of corporations
spring from their garages
to possess us a little more.
Let’s dance in the discomfort
that our data is worth more
than our names.
Let’s listen to men with podcasts
tell us life is about success
and success is living
more like them.
Let’s spend twenty years
learning the difference
between love and attention
and then forget
right when it matters.
Let’s discuss the pros
and cons of being martyred
while we’re immolated
in our hometowns.
Let’s try to forget
it’s our extended family
governing those hometowns.
Let’s paint ourselves
orange to match the sky
as we disentegrate
and wait for a cure.
Let’s medicate with coffee
and pretend the anxiety
was inevitable.
Let’s whisper exit plans
and share the fantasy
that running might help.
Let’s debate whether our
fingernails will regrow
before we die.
Let’s perform every ritual
we can invent to consecrate
the afternoon.
But first, let me
take you to lunch.