IF/THEN
If your hands be the grave digger
(and they are by virtue of turning the page)
Then I be the tomb itself
Yes my throat closes up sometimes.
But I always make sure I’m the last one
to say goodbye.
AND I WASN’T PLANNING TO LIVE VERY LONG ANYWAY
But that’s not new
ask anybody
and they’ll tell you
It’s nothing personal
or even about desire
but I’m only a body
of water, barely enough
for a cloud at this rate
I was not built for stay
say my name and tell me
you don’t taste fog
or something that fades
in the light like a memory
yes I have dreams
all day I sit and name
every impossible thing
after my own pulse
I am fluent in lonely miracles
Nobody criticizes the river
for racing toward where
everything is its color
everybody wants to go home
If I know anything it’s that
I mean look at me
I’m only a guest
in my own breath
ask anyone in this country
And they’ll tell you
just how well
the sky knows my name
Glint Literary Journal 