Four Teaspoons

You always took your

earl grey
almost unbelievably
sweet.

Maybe because that’s how
I first made it for
you
that one morning
after that one
night

when you were so surprised
that tea could
actually taste
good

and I was so surprised
just that you were
real
and still

there.

Or maybe you just love
the way the
sugar wraps itself around
the bergamot

and I just think things like that
mean
just a little bit more
than they
ever really

do.

Grasshoppers

I heard once that grasshoppers
only see in stop-vision:
still frames
instead of moving pictures.

Sometimes I think that
that's the only way
that I can think
about you and me.

There's my car, filled with
your six kittens,
when I wept
and it was time to go
but we couldn't just
leave them.

There's my little girl bed,
with the sheets always
pulling off
and the pillow that was always yours,
and the one that was
always mine.

And there's a line of tiny glasses
full and balanced on the chair
and there's your eyes
and there's your mouth
and there's you talking
about my hair.

And there's us, against a
chain link fence
when the sun was coming up
and us, in a tunnel
underground,
with all the puddles we had to
jump.

Us, alone and slightly
out of place
in so many different places
but always together.

And I'm not sorry
for everything I gave to you
and I'm not sorry
for what you gave me back.

And we did a lot
and we didn't do
much

but I wish
I knew for sure
that all
together

it meant
something.

Something

Quietly, and in several small ways
you slipped into my mind
and made your residence there.

Now, on days when sun-bright snow
        makes sidewalks glare
and wind cuts through teeth,
        and freezes damp hair
It is your eyes that soften the weather.

Disordered

I was born into a family of sleep disorders.

Narcolepsy father,
insomnia mother,
a night terror brother
and a few sleep apnea grandparents.

Some nights, I feel weights
        pressing down on my skin, unbearable
and iron bars, locking my joints
        tight as deadbolts.

Sleep paralysis, or maybe I'm just afraid

                as anyone would be.

Last Night

Last night I dreamt
that you loved another,
laughingly,
and wished that you had never come home
so that I wouldn't have had
to witness it.

Last night
my heart stretched across
        empty spaces
across oceans and continents
(and the tiny gaps between letters and words)
as new snow fell and hands searched
        in the cold
never finding quite
        what they were looking for.

Last night
alone, or just without you,
        I wandered
until eyes became sore
and legs grew stiff with trying,
and still awoke in sunlight
wanting only
        to see you.

Quiet

Quiet now,
before time pulls ends together,
brings minds past words
and bodies into arms into bodies.

Quiet,
to leave small spaces open,
in case someday
you might like
to fill them.

Wrapt in My Heart, the Library

I opened my eyes and found you there,
found you watching, playing with words, making small gifts
and demanding nothing in return.

For you, then, my heart.
Its volumes, its verses, its worn and weathered shelves
Its spines that crack,
its pages that rip.

For you, so that you may
take small parts of me away,
but always bring them back
in due time.