CALL ME BELOVED

You started this year speaking to me, again –
we looked into each other’s eyes, embraced –
and then you fell silent, quickly – afraid, maybe
of how sickly-thin and frail I had become
in the intervening decades – scary, how
traits will echo across time. Both of us still
counting our ribs. Calories. Hours. Minutes.

It’s tempting to try to stay some tender age
but I think I’ve grown with you, mine were
the other set of white knuckles beside yours –
when we anticipate those swells in symphonies
the hairs on my neck also stand, that shudder
of ecstasy rolls through both of our hearts –
if you sing in the kitchen, we sing both parts –

well, we used to sing. Used to skip, spring
down school corridors, used to wave batons
to conduct invisible orchestras – six A.M.
on the cold morning bus we sang out loud.
We knew each sinful way to stop caring,
and we’d weaponize the correct ones, not this
numb, drunk, dark room middle-distance –

we used to choose hope. In high school
the cafeteria table turned to nihilism –
a half dozen queer kids banded together,
exsanguinated, already, not even eighteen –
all dutifully tying our own ropes, building
our own guillotines – we’d already jumped
out of the plane, but I chose the parachute.

My heart sang when you saw me, last year –
oh, how close that coffin was to nailing shut,
how simple to silence a voice, surrender to
tumbling down the mountainside; one must
imagine Sisyphus defeated, resignation like
a crown of thorns – to arrest that fall would
tear out an arm, and to chase the boulder –

stopping a spiral means choosing to hope.
You avoided mirrors because that’s where
you always caught my eyes, remembered
the counter-harmonies in the kitchen, or
becoming an altar boy for the dresses, or
choosing the parachute. Stopping the fall.
Believing in better yous, mes, everything –

don’t do this alone. Take me with you, now –
not strong the way that stops a boulder, but
I’ll push, too, when the climb gets steep; I glow
bright, like how I painted stories on the ceiling
late at night – you have never been alone – fix
your eyes forward, take my hand – no more
nooses, guillotines; no more secrets to keep.