born
I think it was when I met you
(and I did know something
some sort of pact
did say yes—but after
I don’t deserve you
I don’t know, I’ve just got to
hate myself first
and second get better somehow)
grief is just love with no place to go.
It was when I first met you
that I began carrying grief
willing, unknowing
first in my heart and
then in my flesh and
anywhere else I could stash it
enough
I just needed to’ve had enough of it
(I think someone might always need to tell me when it’s enough)
(sternly—a dynamic that really works for me)
It was when I next met you
I started loving my grief
willing, then knowing
and your grief, and theirs
found it all right here
right where I’d always feared it would be
and then I knew enough, or heard it
or said it
and put my head to the cool dusk glass
watched a fly crawl across the opposite plane
stop by my head
and wait
I went to the lawn and laid in the grass and
stared up at the sky and the clouds and
in the distance I heard some guy shout “are you fucking kidding me”
and he sounded angry
and I thought about it
no he didn’t
and I laughed
and I waited
what is love
but grief
with someplace to go
and then I went in
laid with the grief
laid on my left side and faced it
for days
made love to it
made love with it
after that, I cannot say.