Emma, 8/30

All words in this poem can be found in the song “Lost in the Light” by Bahamas

help me,

I’m just

bones now.

even

my lovers,

so lost, all

rattled things

hold my own

night, take

my light.

what thrill. 

I too held words

before this.

Emma, 7/30

under 

the vines

a catch 

of the light, 

a garden

below us

and we grow,

slowly,

while all things

become

still

Emma, 6/30

left on clark, right on spring, brackett, dow, congress.

repeat every sunday, the familiarity of the west end

sound more like our strangest hymns. you’re right-

the coffee here isn’t as good. there is no community like ours,

no anarcho-poet vegan pancakes. new sleepy hands,

the church I’ve replaced you with. how sincerely you wished

I would make music of you, you gentle yet hungry child. 

you constant flicker, you fire-mouth. you must have known

our neverland wouldn’t last- every fool grows up eventually.

and weren’t we something like that? half-wit, half-lit

fireflies, circling each other’s sweetness in the night?

Emma, 5/30

the sun had come down

and vermont begun

to paint itself with night.

in the genesis of moonlight

I relearned the language

of your hands

Emma, 4/30

The eternity between us:

an interstate, the horizon

just out of reach; the possibility

we needed setting. All we could 

do was watch. I was never brave

enough: never bright enough

to know you the way light does.

I wonder what you thought of me:

coward or sunset, crook 

or ever-burning city. Lovable

in a way you could never learn,

a light that flickers in your hometown

while you write me from colorado.

While you miss me, I hope.

Emma, 3/30

swing set by the pool.

boy next door, young love.

holding hands in secret.

fourth grade, school bus.

new kid from texas. eyes

lock, flushed cheeks.

christmas party, candy cane white 

hot chocolate. you’re the only one

I wanted to hear sing.

amusement park. red hair

reflects sunshine. perfect angle.

calloused hands, a digression.

my hair was long when we first met, 

main street, harmony. and the bible 

didn’t mention us, not even once.

drove me home from the diner

after the shows. let it bloom,

slow, yet untamed. still wild.

whiskey on the balcony. a reach 

for my hand. came closer.

the moon turned green.

Emma, 2/30

the bathroom of the clubhouse

only accessible by key. blue tile, clorox,

candy-stripe dress: a vignette. almost sixteen,

hair caught between my back and blue

and the baby blue. I don’t remember

the cum on my stomach but I know

it was there. I remember the frame

of the mirror, now: static reflection. 

show me when I became aware

that the wretch was more than a wretch.

show me when I noticed the chains,

when I became them, when we were one

in the same. show me the right blood

on the floor, the bad blood, the red hair,

the red hands. give me the name

of the god who caused this, whichever one

heard the stripling give up his will

and sent me his hands, rivets

by definition. answer me, damn it.

I know you can hear me.

Emma, 1/30

it felt exactly as hollywood had led me 

to believe: the simultaneous horror

and disbelief, a cosmic joke nearby, lying 

in wait. Dear Creative Monstrosity, 

if you wanted to know if I would pray 

to you while swallowing death, 

we now have our answer. how ironic

that some god would speak through

such unsteady hands, an amateur puppeteer

dancing a whittled marionette. tell me,

what did you do when I became a real girl?

when my wooden jaw learned 

to scream?