cave diving for emotional intimacy
He casually refers to his mind as a hole
in the ground. I have to agree
with this description. We often
have the same conversation twice. I don’t mind
the repetition. I like telling stories over & over
& he is a good listener. He is fascinated
by each story that I am still
finding the words to tell. I know
that my mind was not created the same way.
If his mind is a hole then it is a shallow one
that I have my arm plunged into only
up to my elbow. I am looking
for everything I can learn, anything small
that I can pluck up with my fingers.
When he goes searching in my mind,
he has to tie a rope around his waist
before embarking.
I don’t have a clue what he will find
after the first mile down. I am usually
too afraid to look behind the stalagmites,
what has been fossilized & what has crumbled
to dust. When he returns, he tells me
about his findings using the newest
archeological jargon, & I am surprised
each time. I don’t mind the repetition.
local mother tells only child to go get laid
I still frequently confuse the sound of Stevie Nicks
crooning through the car stereo with my own mother’s voice,
rising above the other backup girls in the worship band
every Sunday, humming through her nose on her way back
from the grocery store. In those same harmonies, a wink
& smile for always trying my best & no less
than three mugs of coffee every morning, she’d read
to me every night about Ruth & Esther, told me—her manicured nails
clawing into my baby-fattened cheeks—not to be a wife of Lot
if I can help it: to never look back at a burning city
& to marry myself first. I had to learn how
on the internet. We still hold hands
when we cross the street until the blinking clock turns red-eyed
like a cicada, flashing an open palm, & I am always
so frightened I sprint to the curb by myself. When I finally came home
for the winter like a lost city pigeon, my first & only coffee
steaming into my face, I told her about my theory
that if I had more regrets in the first place,
each new one would hurt a little less. She frowned,
brushed the Florida-blonde hair she’d given me
for my last birthday out of my eyes, & generally agreed with me.
I can see the headline now: