When you notice Amethyst and Jasper have the same hair, it just looks so different because of the size, and THEN they explain how they both came from the earth in kindergartens ;)
I. After the confetti cleared, balloons bob low, consecrating shadow, like neon grave stones.
Your flat-lined lips crusty with vanilla sugar from the cake I baked to try to save your life.
What’s your favorite flavor icing? What color streamers should we do? Did you take your pills today? Is your mom coming? Are you suicidal? Do you want to wear a party hat?
II. Frisky with the static of stagnant hope and Indiana lightning, I scooped up one blue balloon and tossed it toward your heavy head.
Mouth turns up at one edge, like a pink snake lifting its face out of molting skin.
That familiar flare of mischief colors your eyes in fox tail flashes. “Where is my knife?”
III. I unravel the blade from the aggressive knot of silk panties where I hid it yesterday. Under where? You ask. Underwear. I answer.
Your hand wraps around the hips of the hungry handle; my fingers itch for intervention.
IV. Like a surgeon to a smurf, you slice the balloon’s blue belly and suck suck suck up my stale yesterday air through teeth clamped tight to possibility; I exhale as you in.
You smile wider than I’ve seen in three weeks and look like someone I remember knowing in the sun. Amused lips say “Hello” It comes out deep instead of high.
V. The snake retreats back into sepia scales, sleeping cells. “Oh. I thought it had helium.” “I’m sorry. I should have-“ “It’s fine. Really. Great party.”
Deflated. That’s the word. It lies there in my hands like a party balloon shriveled beyond use.
Desperate, I part your lips with mine and try to breathe living into the dead I hear wilting the corners of your voice.
I try to breathe air into the blue balloons of your lungs- make them rise like bread by the heat of the oven. Let me feed you tonight.
VI. “Thank you” -Your voice comes out rusty as an anchor that has been lip locked with the seafloor since before Titanic left the dock.
VII. The balloons lie still like dead mice with long dead tails. Better go put the cake away.
I. Here in this one-bedroom third-floor place, with the door you must yank to lock and the shower a little too little for two- I am learning you.
I am learning the exact configuration that you prefer the Tupperware to be stacked in- with the tops sitting on the bottom and the bottoms on top.
I am learning how to remind you of what you were going to say when your tongue forgets and says “shit” instead.
I am learning that you like three croutons in your salad and you like the throw pillows tossed under the covers because you squeeze them between your legs at night.
II. I’m learning that sometimes you aren’t in the mood for me to touch you that way; sometimes you just want to be the little spoon to my big ladle.
I am learning that you can track the tears in my voice before they even trip over lid to trickle; my eyes can’t hide from yours.
III. I am learning that your recipe is better than Shake and Bake;
And that you sing earnestly in the car to songs we play and in the shower to songs we make and in the kitchen to songs we butcher.
I am learning to forgive myself for burning the microwave cover on the stove (sorry) and forgive you for that time your words weren’t gentle when I was feeling broken (it’s okay).
I am learning that love has shape- like the bountiful blob the mac and cheese makes on the plate when you bring it to me.
IV. I am learning that you will let me leave the tree up til February if I ask nicely; that there is no limit to how many house plants two people can name.
I am learning that your eyes can be so soft when I am so scared; that your hands can braid peace into my hair that wraps my head in a helmet of promises to be okay.
V. I am learning that shaving legs isn’t necessary for lovemaking and that acne cream and sexual exploits aren’t mutually exclusive.
I am learning to love in a way that feels weighted and weightless all at once.
VI. You leave my socks on the bed because you know my feet are cold after the shower and suddenly the walls feel papered with something thicker than a lease agreement or blood or water or any of it.
I watch you sleeping with features hushed in angelic shadow and the depth of admiration and purity of allegiance I feel almost scare me.
But I can be pretty brave, I’m sure you’ve learned; at least when it comes to you.
I found you. I found you there. I found you there on the floor. I found you there on the floor facedown. I found you there, facedown on the floor with your shoes on.
I found you there, facedown with your shoes on and your backpack over your head. I found you there, facedown, with your shoes double knotted and your backpack over your head and your feet inverted. I found you there, face pressed into the carpet fibers, your sneakers biting onto your ankles, your backpack looking like a crashed plane, your feet fallen tree limbs, and a pool of hot saline at your eyes. I found you there and I thought that what I was finding was not you. I found you there and I thought that what I was finding was what was left of you.
II. You know the rest- my arms peeled you off of the rug. Fingers hastily unbuttoned the shirt that was too hot for your reddened cheeks. Purple straw was shoved between your clenched teeth. My mouth told you “drink”. My eyes went to the pills on the counter, counting them through the opaque orange plastic. My fingers itched in pulses of 9-1-1.
What you don’t know: It took everything I had not to fall down next to you. I put you there on the couch; and there you were. But where were you?
I searched for the rest with the palms of my feet as I paced passed back and forth- sought out the curled fingers poised for tickling. Felt for the sloppy kisses. Scanned for that flickering ember that usually glazes your irises. None to be discovered.
III. The blue of the pills startled me. Red; if there was ever a time for red, it was now.
I watched your every movement; calibrating specific gravity of sadness- hiding the dictionary I wrote from reading your body’s language in my sacred sock drawer.
I mapped your moves and charted an almanac; It predicted rain. All rain.
I learned the paths that paved most peace when my fingers weaved through your sunken hair.
I laid crisp eggshells over the subjects that I noticed sent you somewhere dark.
I kissed your brain through your scalp with emphasis and aim. Hush now, little amygdala- DON’T SAY A WORD.
IV. I was surprised at how physical the pain was. “My heart is beating too fast and it won’t stop.” You sounded scared; small boy lost in the woods with a wolf snarling before him.
So I feigned courage. I laid my head on your chest and willed it to slow- trying to pretend my own beat wasn’t pounding out panic.
120- 70 in 60 minutes. Your smile of gratitude meant more to me than any other gesture ever has.
V. Depression makes you appreciate these moments: when hope flickers briefly across the shadows and the eyes are filled again with light.
Show me your pinky; here is my promise: I will pick you up off the floor every time.
