Grateful it took so goddamn long
A poem about what it is you miss and why
One hundred days of gratitude. Fifty-one.
It took me four years to realize I had, in fact, already moved on.
Maybe it was just for so long, love you
were the only kind voice
I let inside my head.
“It isn’t fair to you.”
I always
only
said.
So now, trying to come out of hibernation again,
the grizzly bare necessities of prideandloveandcommunityandkind
In my mind, still mostly sound like you.
(and smell
and shine)
Why does god let so many of my friends remember so goddamn much?
It’s fine.
But also a poem.
So I and it goes —
Wanting someone to come
to his one-year-old house
for the very first time.
Post-depression deep
cleaning the front lawn.
Feels good to be big and be bold and to growandsculptandmold.
Opening a kind of kitchen curtains
Clearing out cobwebs, bottles, and wasted weed
and noticing how distractingly beautifully green
his grass is
for Texas. His Texas. Just his.
How nice the birds
and church bells sound together
when they sing.
