rememberance #2 (draft)

by essayan hart

you are marching found objects
a yard flag covered in apples
your petticoat
is dipped in
crayon wax

we are having a parade
in black, in white
up trees
and into the doctors office
i roll up your flag
tuck it
beneath our waiting room chairs

you proceed to invite me fishing
pass along a rod
and reel
and i flap on your

you are in love
with the doctor
and have visited
several times
this week

i grow concerned
when i hear
the words
‘restraining order’

we are sitting on a stone
you are not telling me about
your child
or your

you are making the sun rise

you need help
but some days
i am frightened
and i pretend
not to believe

nothing happens
we walk home
almost arm in arm
you look at me as if you might decide to love me
and say
“this was never supposed to happen”

when we get back to your bedroom
you wait for me to make a move
i sit locked in your gaze
for hours

5 years later

you have rung my phone
every half hour
for two days
and nights
i answer

i tell you i will write
i take down your address

ten years later

the letter i wrote then
still stains my fingers

no one fishes in the waiting room now
no one marches, ecstatic about nothing

i join the great sufis in their madness
i measure g-d

all because the line between divinity and madness
crossed your palm
far too close to my heart