F Y I R L / by D.M. Jerman

You.

You- thing with secrets.
I've never wanted any one's secrets so bad before. Do you want them?
What do you rally against now? What hurts you? Does it/do they really?
Don't you know: Every day your magic works.

I'm your best opponent; arrived at just the right moment.
Then I say goodbye when I sleep and I woke and said goodbye but I didn't know how not to. The pattern is as sharp as it is lovely.

Nights afterward I came to you remembering where to touch you and touch you to please not only me. Smashing wet kiss against your mouths having never forgotten also the taste of your hair and hands. How your feet smell pointing their flavorful toes toward me.

From epochs ago the tears I cried into the carpet, and the poems hidden in the walls nourished ivy out from the mirrors, inviting green blades of new proud grass into the toilet tank. Roots arrived from behind the refrigerator, and pushed and propped at the ends of the couch.

Home was never just this tin can, but the can and the world- every heartbeat that built it back apart and tore it back together.

All this means is-

I've been grateful to know you and love you in this world,
and I will be grateful, happy, to know and love you in the next.


You know who you are.