for e.a.h. and l.a.-made by j.j.

my hand does not move to the beat of your heart though without it i would stand still
my heart does not pound down the door to your temple though where it leads i'd like to enter
my home is not yours is not mine
we are not each other's

possesion seems an american construct
or maybe western

worldly
ungodly

"and the fullness thereof"
shared fullness, i think they meant
where is our sharing?
and where, then, is our fullness

i am yours, hers, his
we are our own for the taking and sharing and loving and cheering and comforting
we are nothing if not our entire selves coming into collaboration with everything that does and can possibly exist in our company

close your eyes and see all that is around you
green dances with navy and black skitters across the sky's stage
baby gold and gray sparkles bounce excitedly off each other
fingers reach out to touch the unknown
drawing newness where it belongs

a hammock swings on its own
woven into it is the memory of everyone whose troubles have fallen through the crocheted cord of its togetherness onto the backs of hollow gourds below
into our thirsty mouths did they spill their gift--the juice of life not yet lived

we are one
made from one
coming together as one
intended to act towards one
ultimate good
so very good

green grass freshly mowed has never smelled so
good
chocolate fresh-whipped dripping from the whisk has never tasted so
good
soft fingers trailing their way down my smooth brown back has never felt so
good
is all we were ever meant to be

like the light of day and the dark of night
it is good
it is good
it is good

my lexicon lacks the language to let you in

i walked a ways tryna find out if you still wanted me around
my feet got sore and weary found me sitting by a sign that said no entry
my eyes blurred from the dark and foggy night
i tried to call but got only a busy signal

where you left me is where i got left
movement took me farther and farther from myself
don't remember much what i wore that day
shoes, a bra, no makeup
caught offguard so i didn't get to put on a belt or even earrings

was just time to move
on and on i danced myself outta the shoes i had bought special for the purpose of being yours
soft soled pretty thangs with tiny little diamonds on the straps
they'd arrived in a leather covered box
inscription read 'for the long road ahead'

i never knew they knew so well what they said

my problem is that i feel
emotion weighs 99 pounds more than i can rationally bear
muscles strain
throat choaks
voice hushes
trembles
fails

thoughts run rampant
and disease takes hold

eyes dart
think think
think

senseless and laying on cold tile
hard and impersonal

"what about it?"

insensitivity drives while i sit in the backseat unbelted in
driving without the wheel is very dangerous indeed

make sense out of half words
l tt s
out of order and missing meaning like the last bus home

and i hold my breath close like the teddy bears i used to buy myself
waiting for an answer that won't come

what is it like being home?

home is the first wind blowing against a tear-streaked face, telling us fall has come and is here
like water dripping lightly from the sky tiptoeing across skin like slippers on a hardwood floor
home is the silence of knowing and not having to say
green leaves turned orange and drifting back whence they came

home is brown bark ripped from old trees still very alive
green-gray water swishing against concrete walls
an orange moon that appears and then disappears through paper thin clouds against a sky whose name resounds more deeply than cerulean

a voice harsh and loving
and a smile filled with the gift of simple presence
bitter crying cold and a zero wind chill when you left your best scarf in a warm place

home is slush and dirt
yellow snow and snowsuits for three year olds
angels that are white but only by association

it is ten minutes added to the ride for the care given to the cold car that will warmly arrive at its proper destination

home is hot tea by a bright fireside
couches twenty years old and still cushy
shoes that will never be worn again but can never be discarded

home is heaven on earth
and in its arms sleep cradles and rocks to the beat of my very heart

It doesn’t make sense for me to ask someone else what you’re thinking.
I want to ask you and be able to get a straightforward answer.
I am not being emotional.
I am asking a question whose answer I deserve to know.
I don’t want or need for this to be complicated, I just want to know why you couldn’t let me come to you when all the stars were in order.
Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.