April 13, 2012: Driving. CWE 195

A dead animal was pulled apart
along the road’s shoulder this
morning. I drove with hot
tears for three minutes
past green hills that look
like Ireland. I am afraid of
losing you before I have
found a way to have you.

This is how your kindness
looks. If someone told
me they’d seen a dead
rabbit on the side of the road,
you would cut your eyes at
them and tell them to knock it off

That is how you speak: Knock it off.
Hear me: I have not had enough
years with your love.
I don’t know it like the back of my hand
unloading the the dishwasher or
like the pain in my shoulder after
sleeping with my arms over my head.
That is how I always sleep.
I know your face screwed
into a knot, red, eyes swollen
and running like sores. Let’s take some
years and I will learn your face kind.
There is an order to leaving
and if you do not follow the order
I will be the dead one, torn along
the side of the road. Today there
is kindness to be learned. And when I say
Kindness, it is love that
I am talking about and this love
I have with you, right now, is
a running sore.


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