❝ epistolary ❞

[litany]

…and in that case I would tell you
I love you but better than that I
like you, though I'm unlike you and
maybe that's what I like best. I
would nitpick the intersection of
our memory, tell you when I'm
110% sure you're wrong, but
unlike before? I'd tell you why.

The peonies were blue and
the sky was whiteout, transparent
weather boiling over two heads:
one curly, one straight - one good
and one bad; there's always
a bad one. I know that now.
But we are all lucky still. We
had you: good and human with it.

You know I wouldn't lie
anymore. To you. I wouldn't
lie, though I'll lie down, lie here
lie for the rest of my life going
backwards without opening my eyes.
I tucked this in your coat with
the shearing. You'll find it between
breakfast at 6, favorite book on your knee.

I love your hair, your way of
throwing stones without breaking
anything. I love your silence,
the reliable metronome, the curl
of your lashed words that follow -
- soft pawed with good intentions.
I love us: digging for secrets in
the early morning mangrove.

Are you done? Do you know?
I meant to say it in person or
on the phone. I should have,
or at least put it in another pocket.

I'm stalling, tossing a few more
sticks onto the smoke, but
truth is we're almost done here.
If this was the phone I know
it would have been longer or
shorter, would have been the thin
line between hostage situation
and arms holding gravity back.
I always want the wrong things.

Remember I said the peonies
were blue? It's important. It's
true. They were blue and dying.
A nail went through your foot
that spring. I thought it was
my fault. I don't want it to be
my fault. I don't want it to be.

So tell me about your heart acres
the untraveled, unarmed property
of something good. Gentle. Brown
and pale and better than angels:
a boy who fills the sky. You were
named for a river, which now is
just a trickling thing. Somehow
if it's you, it's still beautiful.

Check what's left. I dog-eared
the important parts, all the points where
things happen. Already I miss you and
blue peonies, especially the mangrove,
the morning, even the nail in your foot.

I'm sorry about your coat. I realize now
I should have picked one you didn't like.