Measly Weekends

All these measly weekends,
I see you now, I see you wild,
I hear the chatter of your child,
I hear barn cats meowing,
mewing louder as you walk me out,
I see you late night in your Levi’s
drinking beer that holds history,
but tastes like water.

And your soul feels as old
as your hundred year home,
town said you’d wear me out,
but I still fell into your fold,
was looking for a liberal guy,
got caught up in your right-wing eyes,
and you’re posting shit that I can’t stand,
I still got lost between your hands.

An ounce for an ounce,
a pound for a pound,
I would have followed you
all the way down,
I would have followed you
across this whole town,
and now I loathe you
like fake news.

Self-Preservation

The things we do to self-preserve:
I hung on to you, numbed my feelings,
hibernated in self-doubt,
distanced myself from my friends and family
to create all the space you needed.

You spread my anxiety out all over the room,
but we called this some kind of love;
I wonder what it is like to be inside your foggy head
as I form a little spoon around the back of you,
wait for you to smile or say some words.

Depression

Sometimes I wonder
what it would be like
if you had been willing
to gaze at the stars.

Other times I understand
your mind was so cloudy
the meteors might be hard
to spot in the sky.

Cold-Weather Love

I will love you like
the kids love Santa Claus,
I will accept your gifts,
and they will prove
that you exist;

I will let you drip
and harden over me like
sap at a sugar bush,
poured over snow,
curled onto a spoon,
melting on my tongue;

I will follow you like
the North Star,
and you will
bring me blessings
when I find you.

Winter Solstice

Love is a warm cabin
on the winter solstice,
a circle of friends,
cedar boughs,
sprigs of lavender,
plastic glasses meeting,
and standing close,
even in the middle of
a pandemic.

We have toasts or incantations
for love and for new blessings,
we say them with Jupiter and Saturn
forming a conjunction in the sky.

Love may take a while to unfold,
but we will breathe through it,
this transformation may take a while,
but we will breathe through it,
the Yule log will take a while,
but we will light up the sky as it burns.

We have the privilege of time and space,
celebrating this shift in the universe,
at an eight-sided cabin in the woods,
our laughter echoing across the snow,
the soft buzz of the generator in the distance,
and the crackle of the fires burning down.