Last Sunday
I was driving on the highway at half speed
With an almost flat tire
Not afraid to die because yoga was particularly good that day
I called you because my heart was fat with love
Which is what happens after yoga
I just wanted to say “as far as friends go, you were my first love”
But you stopped me
Because you had something better to say
“I’m pregnant”, you said
And snot exploded onto my steering wheel
And I got the place
Where joy takes the wheel
Which is a dangerous place
Because joy doesn’t drive
And I howled
A real belly-howl
The kind you can’t make just because you want to
You know me
In the particularly painful way
That you have loved and loathed me in the same fiscal year
We have been so many things
For each other
Mother, sister, lover
Today I called you to tell you
You are the thing that grows in my belly

Remember the time we were digging?
You asked me my Myers-Briggs
While a helicopter flew overhead
I told you ENFP
I guessed you were the opposite
And I was right
We came in just before dark
Made tea for throats hoarse from yelling
You unrolled the cuffs of your pants
Dumping out bits of dirt from the day
I didn’t know you well enough to chide you
So I laughed and poured tea
I turned to the cupboard looking for sugar
I wanted so badly for you to come up behind me
And squeeze me at the waist
But you, being my Jungian foil
Would never do such a thing
“Milk in your tea is disgusting” you said
Maybe tomorrow we’ll dig again

You and I

Communicate

In small currencies

Stick together sweat

And for a second we are looking at each other

Or

Your elbow on my knee over dinner with friends

Fragments after a few beers

Point at your cheek to be kissed

Tell me your grandparent’s names

Pennies

I offer up silver dollars

Without pants on the living room floor

You pocket them

Hold me tenderly by the hair

I can’t sleep for hours after

At some point

Wake in the middle of the night

Feel the sticky paper mache of large bills

Glued to my belly

Sleep hard

And wake to find them gone

You know me

I have an incredible sense of urgency

The type that lets me enjoy nothing

And anticipate everything

The kind takes perverse pleasure in peeling open the blossom

Long before it’s willing

The urge for the next

Is so strong

That if you held my hand

And I decided I must be on

I might gladly gnaw my arm off at the shoulder to steal away

There’s a discipline in the ripening of a thing

That is foreign to me

The little prince waits each day as the fox draws nearer

I’m the guy who ran him off

You were supposed to be here

A half hour ago

To take me to dinner

I repainted my nails

Smoked two cigarettes

And wrote a poem

I thought about

Spitefully running out the back door

And heading to the grocery to buy milk

Or maybe to get a short run in

Or anything that is more productive than this

But instead, I sit and watch clouds go by from the second story window

Pretend I am on a massive ship

At sea alone

Just enjoying the sound of the water

Lapping the hull planking

Or perhaps I invent an emergency there, too

After sixty three miles of riding

My ass bones hurt

So I get off

Walk to the middle of a scratchy field

And squat to pee

Ohio is flat and farms are only allowed on tree a piece

So there’s no place to hide

But I don’t mind baring my ass

To the crows or other nameless birds

Because I’m not ashamed

I like it out here

Even though it’s not pretty

There’s something nice about a space

Uninterrupted

There’s room for everything

To uncurl in a big open space

And so I let my heart do it

Uncurl

Like the nautilus with its

Self-similar spiral curve

Growing as it unravels

Dizzying

I don’t even realize

Until crop winds crackle what’s left of corn stalks

That I’m standing with my shorts down

Palms open

Facing the sunset

And when I come out of it

I’m not ashamed