Monday Night

2:03 am

We could have played lip legos till June.

I built a cushion fort in the imperative,
          begging  you      to put down your Gameboy
      and  crawl         inside.

one night
                               I took your nightmaring body,
                                                                                               kissed your screaming head
     and you sighed out
                                              “It’s beautifullll…”

        it was a sad season we got born into.
     we forget our tuques in October
      and suddenly it was February  
I can’t scarf down on memories like you can.

the tiny men of tiny town   were     terrified
to learn their idol         grew wings    and flew away
     while they left her behind to fish   for minnows.

it’s late, and I’m tired.
        we      might have kept the light on to see what        might come by,
           but we’ve burned it out already    and  I’m tired     and it’s too late.

clackclack,    the muddy bike wheels across train tracks
clackclack,    the muddy bike wheels aren’t coming back

                   Even the brightest watercolors
     are just water
                           and color, Chuck.

Sunday morning

(fragment – Sunday morning after)

you said something about getting up for mass,
but I thought you were joking.

you left note in pink highlighter
like early Sunday evidence
“Thanxoxo”
on a 30 cent soy milk coupon in my fruit bowl.

salt stain where your boots were
with a yellow thread of neon bootlace
hugging two mudpuddles by the door.

your damp towel left on your pillow
on the other side of my bed.
I saw you getting naked but
I missed you getting dressed.
and I’ve missed you ever since.

I can’t believe you took a shower and my pomegranate before leaving.
And your Christian name is Charity?

Sunday morning

(fragment)

I imagine what I’d be like if you had no way to get home
no way to get better
no way out at all

I’d let my flakes get soggy just listening for the words
to write about how I can’t help you

Monday morning

13°C

Moana,

It’s November 14th.
I can hear church bells on Sheppard Street.
My neighbor is inflating two happy snowmen
and putting Christmas lights across our balcony.
I can hear a girl brushing her steps through the leaves across the street.
One maple is still kind of green.
If you come home to me, I’ll make waffles and blanket you till December.

Sunday morning

(fragment)

We played lip legos.

I should’ve known you’d never miss me if I didn’t go away.

Saturday morning rewrite

Hypothetical Continuity

If I can get my paycheck early,
and you can get your paper in,
then we can make a run to Tremblant and rent a chalet this weekend,
     your legs snuggling in between mine like roots in the night,
       my arms wrapping around you like branches in our bedgrove.

If I can get these taxes done
and you can get that baby quiet
then we can have eleven minutes together with the fire before Nightline,
     your lips on my neck erasing any cliché of the moment,
       my snifter of port notwithstanding.

If I can get the driveway shoveled
and you can get the lunches made,
then we can hug for a deep second in the open doorway,
     your toes curling against the cold to pinch the rug,
       my mittens nestling into your robe to pinch your bum,
          our hearth fire melting the chill from the door into perpetuity.

Monday morning

Cheese Rich, Cracker Poor

Cheese rich, cracker poor:

Loving life is loving rules.
Loving fun is loving.
Happiness is something you can tell yourself and be understood.
Loving fun is loving Polish bakeries and plum filled donuts.

Saturday Morning

(fragment – “Hope Slide”)

needher-totter
seesawin’
by the couldabeen swings

Hope slide
hopeslidin’
into idiot pit

Friday Night rewrite

Wookie Suit

When we had just finished trick or treating,
as we were sitting down in your kitchen,
you on the counter, me on the bench,
grinning triumphantly, loot bags bulging,
a layer of sweat under my wookie suit,
at the apex of our youth,

I thought of kissing you—

your angel hair shining,
wings translucent.

You blew a Dubble Bubble
and snapped it in your teeth.


And suddenly,
I wonder where fifteen years have gone.