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through fear and love,
metal casings, green gas,
shouts and batons
in the streets where your hand met mine
and we ran.
i have been searching
for that feeling.
in my garden, rainbow chard,
where the magenta tendrils reach upwards.
things beautiful, delicate, precious, unknown.
writing questions in the soil
like
what is this
inside of you and me? what has grown?
beyond just intimacy born of trauma,
beyond nights spent crying on your shoulder
days outside of jails...
beyond the implications of our gender,
the familiarity of you and your voice,
beyond just time spent
side by side.
questions like
would we have been friends
even if these things hadn't happened?
knowing your mannerism
what you would say, do, feel, express.
knowing the
muscles and
bones and
contours of your body
so intimately,
but never sexually, never romantically,
never lustfully.
but maybe, lovingly
maybe longingly.
maybe in a way
that only best friends know
each other or
only a sister could know her brother...
but no.
lines are blurring in my perception
no borders
no gods
no masters
no slaves
only
wonderment. confusion and curiosity
like
i wonder what your favorite
toy was as a kid and
how your lips feel,
what it's like to sleep
in your arms. what the reality
of that would/could be.
and where that would leave
the questions of us,
of who we are, together.
trudging through
things hard, secret, deep seeded, delicate, unknown.
hoping to understand
hoping to create that line
that could go
between friend or brother or comrade
or lover or partner.
feelings harbored in the wake
of tragedy
and what tragedy could become of
unrequited love and
unrequited revolution
(or worst of all
lose of you completely)
and the consequences on
friendship, on future, on organizations, on
anything or everything. the nature of this
i don't even know.
only the nature of you
which could bring my heart to it's knees.
somewhere on the road
or in a book
i read
"i'd rather die on my feet
than live on my knees"
that being said
no matter what, no matter how or where
i
don't know if i could live
without you. and whether it's you
as a friend, confidant, familiar, brother,
partner in crime
or lover
doesn't matter.
as long as in that moment of
trauma or tear gas or catastrophe
(or zombie apocalypse?)
your hand meets mine.
------
someday could be today...
|
she is me
