I wanted to tell you
that you weren’t alone,
and that it would get better.
All those things
you’re supposed to say
at three in the morning
when nothing is right.
But I poured you another drink instead.
Somehow you seemed more grateful.
What if we didn’t love the wrong people during the holidays?
What if we let people in, instead of shutting them out?
What if we realized how messed up the world is? Even at this very moment?
Would our fridge still be full of food we are not going to finish?
Would you tell me that it didn’t matter?
Would you tell me that everything is going to be alright?
Would you believe it?
What if you asked a stranger “how are you?”?
What if they told you they weren’t alright?
What if you asked a friend?
What if they told you they are alright, but you know better?
What if you asked me?
What if, even with a cross around my neck, I told you I’m not?
A wind came along hurling words in my mind,
now I’m drumming the pen on the paper.
Scared of what now may leak if I get it all out,
so I get up and out and I run.
I could tell you about the bluest of oceans.
An ocean so blue you’d find calmness in its complexity,
unity in its ever-changing streams
Where peace would be found,
a place for awe, a place for dreams.
Or I could tell you about the darkest of oceans.
An ocean dark as the nights
where sleep seems to fail you.
Waves tickling your face,
then throwing your body against the rocks,
leaving you grasping for breath.
I could even tell you about the woods,
and the stories yet to be told.
About grand views and fireplaces,
of the knights riding west,
or how the wolves all went wild,
that time the moon shone too bright.
I tried to write about you,
but still the page remained blank,
the clock went on ticking,
and the night became daylight.
And no matter my efforts,
with someone like you
my words could never get it right.
It was the excitement in his voice
and the brightness in his eyes
that made me want to twirl
to let out the overwhelming
happiness in my stomach.