gods real and his name is scott

on the way to st. louis we saw god

we named the clouds scott and jesus cut through

like a movie at the good part

like sticks of cold butter

like god

and we said scott help us

don’t let us rip the bumper off as we turn into the gas station

and please may there be free snacks at our hotel

and don’t let us die before we see new mexico

and none of us could tell if we believed in god

because the bumper caught on a curb at sunoco

and granola bars were two dollars in the hotel lobby

and when we reached new mexico there was butter

cutting down on every piece of the canyon

and carving out endless rocks

and the hawks dove back and forth through it

too fast for our binoculars to follow

so we couldn’t be sure

but we said thank you to scott

and we cried when we waved goodbye to the hawks

 The day after i cried in Annas bedroom at 2am and made her very worried for my life I saw a helicopter descending on the children’s hospital and only then did it occur to me to wish I knew how to pray.

my friends have reached out in the last two days to make sure I’m not going to kill myself and I’ve hated them for their selfishness. But if I die they’ll have to know they called me.  And if a child in a helicopter dies it will certainly be my fault, for not having the words, for not believing in someone who could save them.

Maybe if my friends were religious they wouldn’t have had to call me.  Or maybe I wouldn’t be so sick in the first place.

 Midsummer out on the lake

Sun like knives, stabbing

Then melting on skin

Slicing open the water

Opening our faces

Laid back on hot splintering wood

Our toes are out and already dry

He has a wart on his big toe

Luke tells me they’re contagious

And I press my own toe to his infected one

laughing.

Three years later and remembering this

Does not stab needles through the inside of my chest

But our matching warts have not faded

I’ve mostly let go of my commitment

to that metaphor

The wart means nothing

And we are not related

But I have a memory of his face above me

When the hurt was still wet

The iron still in my mouth

And the sun was there cutting down on us

And so was the rain, shattered glass

No clouds just bright rain and his beautiful face

So beautiful it shoves the needles

Into my lungs, through my voice

They’ve melted since but I do remember

His wet haloed face

And my wart hasn’t healed.

if you’re going to strangle me in the back of your car

kiss my forehead before you dump me

the first time i had sex was in a bank parking lot

and my hickies looked like fingerprints

since then i’ve cried more than i’ve cum

which is how i like it

despite my complaints.

fingers are good at many things

rub my eyes turn a page

close a window open a door

touch a lip slip a button out of place

fiddle with a safety pin and get stabbed.

i’ve learned not to jump when i touch a hot plate

i let myself burn rather than drop it

in return i flinch at raised hands,

memories, the sight of myself,

hickies, texts, invitations to.

Margaret asks me “have you been…”

then trails off and laughs, nevermind

yes

I don’t have to answer her question but if i did i would tell her i don’t know

but i’d kiss her on the mouth

i’d do it all again.

won’t drop anything till it’s slapped out of my hand.

i still know the boy from the parking lot

the last time i saw him we fell asleep

at 4am just before the space between us had time to close.

the next day, downstairs, Charles said “that’s a W”

and held his index fingers up, thumb to thumb, W.

the embarrassing intimacy of it clings to me but i cling back

the truth is i would’ve done it

or anything

and that’s what it means to be emotionally vulnerable

which i finally knew in a dark crowded room

unable to wipe my soggy face

my hands too busy working for her.

it’s that i would love anyone who let me now

its that her head against my arm

her hands on my hip

his thumb in my mouth

and recognizing his breathing dropping to sleep

are fingers in a pomegranate

getting wet and sweet and red to dig out chunks of flesh.

I would eat out of your hands

I would suck on your fingers in my mouth

I would bite your hand

and I would beg for forgiveness.