San Juan Island

Can I meet you tomorrow?

I need a hug.

There are things 

that I need to shake off.

I danced and sang it off for now

so it's not extremely urgent,

I think.

I was there, girl.

In front of the fangs of the abyss,

licking the last crumbs

of my fading bliss.

I tugged desperately

the length of my cord,

barely escaping

the bite of the scythe.

I logged on Grindr

and felt immediately gross.

I knew it was gonna be that way,

so why did I bother to log in?

I wanted someone

to cut with their scissors

the vines from my loved one --

no longer one.

My hands are too sore and cramped

from trimming trimming trimming

every week

the chains that come back stronger

tying me to a desk I no longer believe in.

What am I to do instead

when cries for help are shots in the dark,

when the hand in everyone's clock is ajar,

when the floor is covered by

unfolded laundry

and stacks of dishes.

There's a palette in my night table

waiting for my hand.

It begs me to paint landscapes

with memories full of light.

It's okay.

Everything will be alright.

Just lay on your bed of lavender flowers

while you live for a moment

in evergreen sights.