there was a man i once loved
i called him honey.
we’d met before
in summer
in the grass
he lit up my hands and i let him go
orange fireflies
are really rare.
he didn’t laugh much
or smile, and that was fine.
oil and grease
metal and turpentine
no soap and water could change his scent.
it contrasted his pale skin
and his honey hair.
i liked it.
we went on dates at the lake.
i had a daughter, too
she thought he was okay
funny her daddy has a boyfriend.
they didn’t know what to do
about the other
but it all worked out
because she shrieked ‘daddy!’ when he picked her up from school one day.
i held him as he cried that night.
we were a family.
we spent time at the lake.
he said yes at the breakfast table.
no warning.
i couldn’t help it.
he looked like a roughened sailor
finally getting a coffee
before beat to quarters.
he somehow always looked like he
belonged on the waters.
my little girl was now our little girl.
we went afterwards to the lake.
vacations are nice.
we won’t go on another one for awhile.
three squeezes meant i love you.
i never took it for granted.
i said it all the time.
all
the
time.
i guess i thought it could help repair
the man asunder.
though here i was
a mason without tools.
we moved to vermont
far away from that lake.
his eyes looked different.
i still get angry
when i think about our fight.
i believed him when he said he was sorry
though i refused to believe
that little voice that said,
no: not about the fight.
the kiss confirmed it.
i don’t know what to feel now.
we had nothing to bury.
i’m tired.
she’s grown up.
she loves and misses her father
and i know she doesn’t want
to tell me
she needs to put him to rest
in her life.
i understand.
i think she knows that
but i saw the way she searched my eyes.
don’t worry about it.
she knows.
i’m practically all grey now.
i put the box in the jeep.
i broke out of wearing
the same three things
when we moved to vermont.
the same three things still fit.
it’s what i wore when we met.
the lake looks the same.
it feels clear.
i’m tired.
i’m very, very tired.
the water’s cool.
colder than i expected
warmer than i thought.
it’s nearly to my shoulders
when then it’s too far to stand.
hi, honey.
i think i’m projecting.
no, i’m not.
i’ve thought about it a lot.
against the temple
or at the roof of my mouth.
it tastes strange.
my heart is faster than ever.
i’m scared.
his eyes were lake green.
the water is clear.
somehow, it all looks like him.
he’s beautiful.
we were one, once
and forced apart by zeus.
i waited all my life for him
after that orange firefly.
he said he loved me
and i said i loved him.
we believed each other.
we never said it.
we just knew
we’d be together forever.
we were born tired.
we lived tired.
we were one, once.
we were happy.
the tears are relief.
i don’t have to be exhausted anymore.
he was a mechanic asunder
and i, a mason without tools.
he called me angel.
i never understood why.
i guess it’s because i lit up his sad eyes.
i wonder if he knew
how i fell madly in love with him
every time i laid eyes on him.
there is a man i love.
i call him honey, and firefly.
he calls me angel
and his hair rivals the sunrise.
i promised him forever.
he said the same.
i’m sorry i lied about our vows
but you did too.
i said you’d never be alone again, james.
i always loved how your arms
felt like home.
and so now here i am, again:
home.