Hendy

All evening long I walked the neighborhood, my back sun-plastered.

In the shadows my fingers were extra long & promising;

I wanted someone to hold them.

These are the stories I keep for myself.

The taste of my skin almond & honey when I kiss the back of my palm;

How I wish to be cast gold & smell sandalwood sweet after prayer;

Aglio e olio on the weekends, oat milk during an outbreak, butterscotch in the wintertime.

(Ladies & gentlemen & all people: I am in love & I despise it.)

Under this big blue blanket I thought I could do anything,

No medium for truth or faith or justice necessary.

Well, here is where I first kissed a boy.

Here is where the sky first broke me.

Forget the needle going in; only remember the stitches.

Don’t touch, just look: it happened. It’s okay now.

Here is where my hands broke the sky after.

Here is where I was mended whole after love.

Saw strawberries growing on the side of the highway.

Blackberries, even. I remember the feeling. It was good.

Only I have it. So I’ll keep it safe.

Here is where I felt full forever.

(Be back soon.)

In this moment, now: here is love. Here is home.