eve

here we stand and play and sit

gnawing away at cold pits of grass clod frozen

up there in larynx chords and in stomachs

holding the things that have closed us close

holding each other up to the light

they arrived at 1 am, my hunger slanting

the dark towards unsealed windows,

clasping hands and breasts over rough flannel

we turned the house down and lit the candles

after a moment holding ourselves in the dark

a blanket stretched across us all

blending oak leaves and smells of fall

into a distinctly winter time, death and collapse

in the air with every breath, fogging like heartbreak

coalescing in cold rain like desperation

it may be the first new years I am taken care of,

silver canted over into purple glass,

the tapping at the windows coming from waves

of heat and sound rather than something trying

to get in or be let out

in brookline they prepare for early bed,

small folding down of pages for tomorrow,

a ritual as old as our people that says “we will still be here”

in between pines in the small town where I grew up

they wander through a sanitized kitchen to grab logs

from beneath the porch, crawling with dirt and life,

and drag them up into the living room to make a fire

before the friends they have known since before they knew each other arrive

we are precarious. A mixture of probiotics and what we consume,

living and dying, freezing and thawing like double paned glass.

The house is changing in nature, just as I am.

Any of us. Charlotte is closing her eyes.

And for a time, none of us seems to be home,

As I flip the lights in each room on and off,

Just to check the bulbs I say,

Just to remind myself of the places we’ve been.

When they scarred my back—they came

As if in dreams to call my name,

Hold my hand for a moment in the crashing waves

I was stretching my fingers and salt was on my cheeks

And afterwards we played pool and it was good.

I have changed this year. An additional ring.

Held. Overflowing. Cards in the pocket.

And a rolled up sleeve. I am going somewhere

That I do not know. And I do know,

That this house with the machine in the basement,

And dreams of grand love, will be with me.

It is a new year in several hours

And the nervousness subsides, leaving ringlets, shadows

Of sand along the pacific.

You are coming with me.