the g train.

i numb my tongue                                                               
wanting to cry out all manner of things                                   
for your ears to swallow                                                       
i focus instead                                                                 
on the verb,
to do.

to do
to do
to do
so do

hoping my love
is read-able
between each line
of malaria research
(catchable,
but not the bad kind
bring your own medicine)

hoping my love is inherent in
each minute
i spend
scouring
your favorite book
on the subway
(g is for grasping)
as if i could somehow
read the way to your heart
uncover all of the words left
unsaid
unspoken
not breathed
and echo them back to you
with an academic air of
“that part was nice”
and
“that part was good”
it is all well and good and cool
we are all just hanging out
shredding our hearts to tatters
each time
(g is for gasping)
my heart tripping over itself
to catch a glimpse of yours
and when you said
“i’m following”
i thought you said
“i’m falling”
and i couldn’t

breathe

for a moment                                                                                                                                
these ears are unreliable
and even moreso
around you
creating
home out of hangs
and
kin out of connection
and
bare out of bond
even
neural pathways
doing
doing
doing
working overtime
nights and weekends
to construct
threadbare
realities
scaffolding
around
a really
hastily built
and
itchy
mud hut
(bring a mosquito net)

scanning the landscape
for unexploded
ordinance
but yours seem to release
silently
your fear
somewhere
inside you
that i can’t see
(g is for gravity)

tracing you
in action
and lower case letters
and quietude
and coaching myself
to sit in the center of
the maelstrom
and feel
pieces of you there
(g is for gaping)

tracking you
in glances
and claw marks
eyes red
from trying to endure
and stay focused
and the strands
between us
so fine
as to be dipped
in watermelon sugar
and cold chocolate
(g is for grace)

my wonder hidden
when
you refer
to the happenings between us
as a great mystery
as if
it were not the oldest tale ever told
older than the stars and
your ancestors’ shame
and far more
predictable

i am

unable to
let
the

mystery

be,

and if i’m leftover
what are you
where do you go
and how do i get there
(g is for girl)

each time
good bye
silently
eulogizing
our hut
(g is for gnawing)
set between
the gloaming
and the cold light of day
where we are sustaining
ourselves
on ums
and ahs
(insulting religion is a prosecutable offense)

eulogizing
our daughters’
despair,
(at the corner
of)
willoughby and myrtle
(g is for grief)

the longest day
happening
and
happening
and
happening
again and again
i leave you,
a hand to your
ear

“i
will
call”

“keep
in
touch”

and all i can manage is

“if
you say
so”

g is for gone.

(public transportation does not meet international safety standards; accidents are not uncommon and can be fatal)

y is only for you.