Urge For Going

I am getting cabin fever, again.

It was long ago when I learned to pack carry-on,

learned to live light and ready,

habits of goodbyes born of repetition.

This wandering is an heirloom

a legacy I can't shake, 

the reason I find safety in an exit strategy,

(claustrophobic heart).

But there is something so beautiful

in belonging.

I am trying to convince myself not to run,

to find the beauty in thread-like roots, this time.

Yet I am more in love

with the way the wind feels in my hair, 

the way the trees blur and beckon

than I could ever be

with you. 

Bethlehem

You said loving her was like discovering the moon

when you thought you'd learned the heavens by heart.

And I smiled, but I wanted to tell you

that you and I 

would have been a planetary conjunction,
would have lit the heavens, 

we would have burnt out hot and dark

something so rare, so unimaginable

They would would still see our fire

ten million years after we'd been lit.

The moon is just a reflection of old light, 

words you know how to recite, poems that have

already been written, loving her is easy.

I would give you unnamed stars,

I would take your hand and lead you out of the
overcrowded auditorium of astronomy 101,
into the moonless, inky dark. 

So when you tire
of trying to turn lonely midnights into meaning,
when your heart is a black hole
and the stardust in your sheets has turned to sand,

You'll find me under the ancient sky,

this girl with eyes like burning stars 

when every constellation in the heavens looks like you.

Tide in, tide out

I have never been here before. Never held on to a grief like this, let it sit into my bones, weigh down the muscles, the tissue fibers. I am not yet accustomed to the extra weight that has settled despite the hole you left.

I wouldn't presume to call us best friends. But I guess it takes a person's absence to realize all the places in your life that they inhabited. You were always there. Wing nights, christmas parties, math help, pumpkin patch visits, late night bus rides. With those intense eyes, stares held too long, big smile and arms ready to enfold. Even when you were in terrible moods, you controlled a room, impossible to ignore.

I used to think about you everyday. Because I sill had your sweater, product of a late night, wine-fueled adventure up a mountain. I got cold, and you were always the perfect gentleman. Bundled me up, checked I would get home safe, smoothed my hair before I stumbled home. Your sweater dyed all my socks red in the wash. You brought it up every time you saw me. And so I hung it in my room, and everyday I saw it and thought "I really need to give that back to Andy".

On New Years Eve, you came to pick me up, a bunch of oversized boys crowded into my front doorway. You reached out to hug me, and I suddenly remembered, ran upstairs and grabbed the sweater. You laughed so hard, and then left it in your car. I don't think you ever even put it on. And the night filled up with beer pong games, fire building, you dancing on the table in those stupid shoes, so prepared for hiking the next day. When midnight came, you insisted I open the champagne, put your hands over mine as you showed me how to do it. We blew the cork over the neighbour's fence, you poured glasses for everyone, your laugh was lit up by sparklers.

That was 11 days ago. No time at all. I can't reconcile the image of your laughter with the grief filling the cathedral on Thursday. You left us all searching the shoreline for answers we will never find.

What happens now? I have never been here before. You were full of laughter, more charm than you had any right to, so much life and a smile that made people fall in love with you, everytime. I hope these memories stay, that their sweetness outlasts the sting that barbs them now. And most of all, Andy, I hope you recognized the love that always wrapped you, and that you're somewhere laughing still.