Sunday, April 14, 2013

Meeting A.

I remember holding on too long
for fear of the moment he'd leave me.
His hands, lightening on my back, would pull back
and leave me standing in a blank white page.
One time he didn't end the hug.
I stepped out first.
I had to or I would have died, even though it killed me.
I gave him the page to hold.
Just before he tossed it, the page had turned to gold.

When I met his son
he wrapped his arms around me and didn't let go.
Maybe he had been let go of before, and it killed him.
Maybe there is memory on the surface of our skin
of a light, of a gold light, the last handprint of him.

Safe now, we live on the surface and the layers
the spaces between words spoken and un.
The way forward from holding someone too long
the way to survive their struggle free
I guess is just to let them be.

Maybe he loved you so much
he couldn't bear that from you-
to feel you move away the way
you were always meant to do.

Anyway, A.-
thank you for being so patient.
You smiled, and I didn't cry
even when I studied the curve of your jaw
and saw the lightening in your eye.

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