If
we were created in God’s image
then
when God was a child
he
smushed fire ants with his fingertips
and
avoided tough questions.
There
are ways around being the go-to person.
Even
for ourselves.
Even
when the answer is clear
like
the holy water gentiles were drinking
when
they realized
“Forgiveness
is the release of all hope for a better past.”
I
thought those were chime shells in your pocket
so
I chucked a quarter at it
hoping
to hear some part of you respond on a high note.
You
acted like I was hurling crowbirds at mockingbars
then
you abandoned me for not making sense.
Evidently
I don’t experience things as rationally as you do.
For
example, I know mercy
when
I have enough money to change the jukebox
at
a gay bar.
You
know mercy whenever
someone
shoves a stick of morphine
straight
up into your heart.
Goddamn
it felt amazing
the
days you were happy to see me.
So
I smashed a beehive against the ocean
to
try and make our splash last longer.
Remember
all the honey
had
me looking like a jellyfish ape
but
you walked off the water
in
a porcupine of light, strands of gold
drizzled
out to the tips of your wasps.
This
is an apology letter to the both of us
for
how long it took me to let things go.
It
was not my intention to make such a production
of
the emptiness between us,
playing
tuba on the tombstone of a soprano
to
try and keep some dead singer’s perspective alive.
It’s
just that I could have swore you sung me a love song back there
and
that you meant it
but
I guess some people just chew with their mouth open.
So
I ate ear plugs alive with my throat, hoping they’d get lodged
deep
enough inside the empty spots that I wouldn’t have to hear you
leaving,
so I wouldn’t have to listen to my heart keep saying
all
my eggs were in a basket of red flags, all my eyes to a bucket
of
blindfolds in the cupboard with the muzzles and the gauze.
I
didn’t mean to speed so far out and off, trying to drive
your
nickels to a well
when
you were happy to let those wishes drop.
But
I still show up for gentleman practice
in
the company of lead dancers
hoping
their grace will get stuck in my shoes.
Is
that a handsome shadow on my breath, sweet woman,
or
is it a cattle call in a school of fish? Still
dance
with me. Less like a waltz for panic,
more
for the way we’d hoped to swing
the
night we took off everything
and
we were swinging for the fences.
Don’t
hold it against my love. You know I wanna breathe deeper
than
this. I didn’t mean to look so serious, didn’t mean
to
act like a filthy floor, didn’t mean to turn us both
into
some cutting board
but
there were knives stuck
in
the words where I came from.
Too
much time in the back of my words.
I
pulled knives from my back and my words.
I
cut trombones from the moment you slipped away.
And
I know it left me lookin’ like a knife fight, lady.
Boy
I know it left me feelin’ like a shotgun shell.
You
know I know I might’ve gone and lost my breath
but
I wanna show you how I found my breath to death.
It
was buried under all the wind instruments
hidden
in your castanets. Goddamn. If you ever wanna know
how
it felt when you left, if you ever wanna come inside
just
knock on the spot
where
I finally pressed stop
playing
musical chairs with your exit signs.
I’m
gonna cause you a miracle
when
you see the way I kept God’s image alive.
“Forgiveness
is for anyone
who
needs safe passage through my mind.”
If
I really was created in God’s image
then
when God was a boy
he
wanted to grow up to be a man.
A
good man.
And
when God was a man - a good man - he started
telling
the truth in order to get honest responses.
He’d
say,
Yeah, I know… I
really should’ve worn my cross.
Again. But I don’t
wanna scare the gentiles off.
That is not what I
came here to do.
He
said,
I’m pretty sure
I just came here
to love you.