with you

I am me           only a bit more relaxed            I forget to obsess over unanswerable questions

am I a mirage?                       where do dreams go when they die?               is my heart suicidal?

I listen to the night’s dialogue             it is rich with contempt          how difficult it is to ignore

the branding on my skin         scars from previous owners                who didn’t know a thing

about the vertigo of life           or how to love without terms and conditions             still I persisted

like my childhood dog she refused to die                    even when biology came for her

whoever said snow was beautiful       never got snowed in with the wrong disease

moving merely got rid of the symptom          but even under the boiling sun            I was unwell

orbiting the corpses of promise          an astronaut with little direction         the palm trees shook

like a suspension bridge on its last wish          back east a woman apologized for having a seizure

I could have cried                    the genetic guilt           the saber-toothed shame                    

the thousand-pound weight tied around her neck                   that was years ago      I still think of

her        remind myself of what I do not want to feel              with you I am me                    I am

searching through tide pools                   cradling your golden goodness            with you I am dancing

in pool halls                        as if they are brilliant ballrooms         keeping time and everything else

Marisa Crane is a lesbian fiction writer and poet. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys, Pigeon Pages, Pidgeonholes, Okay Donkey, Riggwelter Press, among others. She currently lives in San Diego with her partner. You can read more of her work at www.marisacrane.org. She tweets @marisabcrane.