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.