24 months and 2 days

at the age of seven,
i asked my mother
why there were so
many songs about
love. she shook
her head, knowing
somehow, who I
would become; how
my heart would grow;
how it would take
root it so many
people it shouldn’t.

she said, ‘because
love is the most
amazing thing we
get to feel in this
short life of ours.’
even before I was
a decade old, I knew
she was right. i
knew that i would
always crack my
heart open like an
egg and pour it,
delicately, over men
who smiled like
snow in the sun.

i count the months
since the day I met
you like I count
fireworks on the
4th of july. each one
an explosion that lit
me up and then
turned into nothing
but a smoke trail in
a black sky–
too clouded to fly.
too polluted to rain.
too drenched with sulfur
to remember sparkle.

but then there are
the songs—bringing
back nothing but
electricity that could
light a sky larger
than I could ever
i become nothing
but an explosion;
a detonation of
memories, that keep
me on fire until I scorch.


Categories: Poetry

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