Heart is crowded tonight –
its swollen waterskin – the tension it takes
to keep a surface. I think
it is just an illusion,
as I listen to Death Cab
and remember curling into you
on the leather couch cushions.
I watched my friend cry
as I left her lighthouse porch
and my eyes sang back her ocean hymns.
I am often unsure of who
is bleeding into whom.
I am in love
with whomever joins me here
in this pulsing cell.
I am held
by whatever gods made me porous,
allowed the world to make its home
in my tenderness,
poured me into creation
so I might soak into other skins.
I visit strangers in hospitals daily; yes,
I think about dying. I think about
holding people close
who don’t.
But understand – I have always been this way.
I have spent nights at your bedside.
I have stared at your eyes,
hurling locksmith prayers
at their closed doors.
I knew I would follow you anywhere
the first time you smiled at me.
I have always lived in a hospital,
sat still and studied the ways
we hang onto life,
held people as they left,
held them long after
the new immaculate sheets arrived.
I am holding you.
I am holding you.
Let me hold you.