CALL ME BELOVED

this is how it comes now,
methodical, slow and steadily let out
in languid sentences, rolling through
careless breaks and eddies – this is how
I’m speaking to you.

this is how I’m asking you, do you see it
like this too? is it heavy in your stomach
while you stand on the corner of the sidewalk,
as if you’re stretching out your hand
and feeling for a comfortable place
to wrap your fingers around?
does it come to you at night,
driving into sunsets bruised purple with rain?
or like today when my forehead was pressed
against the elevator door,
waiting for it to open –
do these moments follow you too,
petulant shadows dripping between
your words and your footsteps.

this is how I’m asking myself.
I carry out my rituals
and reassure myself
with the certainty of what I can put down
and lock into their places
between all of the hyphens.

because when I took the key out of the ignition
and stepped toward my front door,
when I reached out for the knob
I wrapped my fingers around
what I was trying to say –
the words felt warm and alive
so I put them down.