Once again, no summit needed, only years
when you’re one day closer to some body
astral or otherwise. Done with stars,
I swim in the lake. Kind of fun
to figure out who that makes me in the dark
tonight, I’m sure heaven is the goal, I’m just not sure
why no one’s here, why these angels
talk like us and offer crumbcakes at the door.
I shake their hands, then find the best roads
to drive your car in the middle of the night. I swear
I wasn’t even that mad when you called me
a minor miracle. Because tonight Little T has a problem
in his phone, everyone says these girls are wild
fires, and we’re all a little worried what it means
to leave God all alone like that. Rest assured
I know how to not fuck up in the middle of living
rooms all across America. Even in the dark,
I can show you the big spaces where the houses
used to be. Sometimes I just need everyone
to get really silent after a bottle breaks,
for someone to kiss my head before asking me
to leave because that’s when I know: hi, I’m Becky,
I never cry when I’m supposed to, I don’t need anyone
to tell me how cold dirt feels in my hands first thing
in the morning, how there’s nothing like it,
when everyone’s off in some car not even dreaming,
when I’m right here feeling whatever this is first
Click here to read Rebecca Boyle on the origin of the poem.
Photo by Kristijan Arsov on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
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