Lightning in the Attic
I did not believe in the light until I had seen it.
And even then my prayers sounded like
may it always be a beautiful day for baseball.
Dan — I am forever in the bleachers that summer
we saw Tyler Naquin hit four home runs
and Gabe take a plane to his new life.
When doctor scans told me the lights upstairs were on
I spent the whole day hallucinating to prove it.
Eating blossoms off the lilac bush
thinking it would make me lovely.
Writing poems about god until they were
bodied and breathless in my living room.
I was Schizophrenic in the way that one is when you are
fractured and all of your selves are present with you.
There are few words for brains or bodies like ours.
One of which means “something like a dream
in which my hands are touching nothing
and you are lining one by one in order
of how much I loved you
when I loved you the most.”
There is no loneliness like love.
We pick apart the best of ourselves
for folks to make homes inside of us
and keep the lights on when they leave.
Dan — you once said the meaning in suffering
had something to do with how much we’re giving
away to others at any given moment.
Do you still believe this is true?
And how long ‘til I stop believing
in the parts of my poems that save me?
Our lives are passing each other by
and we’ve done nothing to stop it.
I never want to lose you more than I can handle.
My memories are becoming more beautiful
and less real with each passing year.
Dan — what I remember now is that
after Naquin rounded the bases in the 9th
we cheered ‘til our lungs went sore
then walked the Carnegie bridge home.
I vaulted the concrete to hang
at its edge by my fingertips
you sat beside me with your hands
prepping to pull me back
should I ever feel the need to let go.
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