gathering flowers for a girl
Every day I look at larkspur on the trail,
purple as grape popsicles, and to give
you these, and yellow monkey flowers,
black round eyes hidden inside,
I meander a poem and comb the thistle
by the black water, the lake a-burn
in a western sun, gold on the hot, dry hills.
Every day I look at my fat white body
and wonder why you see my muscles,
my river-spirit, the solid, hidden stones,
or, in my hair, gray as guano, why you find
silk and thread to run your fingers through.
Why do your eyes tremble, unafraid, hoping
to wrap me in your sleeves?
Every night I'm left alone to think of you
taking my weight into yourself, warmth
springing from your chest, my flowers
holding you to what you really want,
crazy woman; not the dream but the man,
the fur and the bones, my arms to squeeze
your breath, your lips, to breathe with you.
Every night when the moon comes out
I know you think of me, I can
hear you thinking, I know you fight
to solve me as though I were a puzzle
yet I am both simple and unsolvable and these
flowers wilt and you have only a second
before you have to go, so kiss me now
there is no other spring, no Christmas
you are my everything, this red paintbrush
flower paints for you, every boy and every girl
look at each other just like this, and this is our time
to hold hands, don't think about it just
grab me, I am here to catch you, reach out
and everything you want will come true