I love you firstly because your wound and mine are twins
at their conjoined openings we took off
our shoes and entered them, like mourners
praying in a temple
our shaky fingers gently
palpating their depths
for darkness instead
we found a kiln
we knelt before each other, meditating
in their sacred gaping
I press a gauze on yours
you press one on mine
sometimes the gauze is one pulling a chair
next to the other,
silently in front of the kiln
sometimes a poem with grief
sighing between ellipses
sometimes a call gifted amid tears
no one ever said my wound sounds better
or mine deserves the bigger gauze
this is our sorrow
but also our gratitude:
we walk away carrying the wisdom
of each other’s wounds
Nab, we have slipped our shoes back on
but we are no longer strangers
take off your shoes when loss comes
itching to peel off the scab
keep warm in front of our kiln
there’s an empty seat waiting for you, and a letter
that says thank you for the light of
your wound that became my eyes
This poem was first published in Anti-Heroin Chic on December 9, 2022.
