CALL ME BELOVED

So much of my past
seems like broken piers –
splintered gangways
hanging over some
hungry, yawning pit.

When the house was razed,
I suppose our childhoods went, too.
I stared at the rubble, online,
sighed and relinquished the whole plot;
nothing I’d want again. Just junk,
none of those horrors worth
cramming into the car trunk,
but, brother –
I’d choose you
I’d choose you
I’d choose you,

one thousand times – choose a
futon for a bed, the television
late at night casting those
Technicolor glows, throwing
weird shadows across both
our blankets – we were
rarely safe, but we dreamed
together, all those silver-lining
lies about how we’ll escape,
apart – never alone, all the same –
I’m certain I followed you
through the brambles, on our way out,
that safe path that your bolder body
broke through – you let me slip behind,
following your broken boughs, I saw
you took more thorns as we went
so I could bleed even
just a little bit less.

The real twist of pain is
although the bedroom,
that futon – it’s all gone –
learning what safety means,
how when we run, we scatter
different directions – both of us
glancing back and hoping
beyond all hope that
maybe you’re behind –
maybe not, but God,
I hope he’s still running too