Lightning in the Attic

J. David

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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