That Leaves for Tomorrow

I once forgot how my hands moved —

Rain, Steam and Speed | Source

i. hands

I once forgot how my hands moved —
I once forgot how the feeling of your palms against mine
were the details of flesh rivers and trivial pulses.
And the horn blew,
and you tried hard to build dams,
and I tried so hard to drown.

ii. laces

I once forgot how to tie my shoes.
I once forgot how the mundane in life
is as invisible as the beaten youth on the street
that you passed as you got your ticket
and how they were yet as
— important.

I once forgot how anglets were angels because
string doesn’t enjoy the pressure of
being trapped.
in holes the way
you didn’t enjoy the pressure of
being trapped.

iii. cancer

You once told me a secret.

You once told me the way the wind blows
can’t be proven the way you can’t prove
that I love you.

And I thought about that for awhile
and pressed my cheeks against the frosted tracks.
Because what runs through my ears and
drowns the white noise of a city with the
drownings of nature
is dead art.

iv. hands

And I forgot how to hold you.
Because my hands had been asleep for so long
I was going to pull the plug.
And I forgot how it felt to hold you.
Because I wasn’t lucky enough to survive
an onslaught of words and words and words.
And I forgot how it felt to love you.
Because I let go of the rails.

v. five

And sometimes
you flood.
And sometimes
you can’t do anything but
wait.

Because you once told me how I broke you
and I watched desperately from the sidelines waiting —
for life to reconstruct the glass you were made of
into pastel mosaic and how
many burn scars
are caused by
mistakes.

vi. flowers

I forgot that your name was chrysanthemum
when my head became empty and
my scalp became cold.

I forgot that your name was chrysanthemum
when your father beat it out of you and
the machines nearly killed you.

I forgot that your name was chrysanthemum
when Eliot became an angel and I
tried so desperately to grab him as he drowned to heaven.

And I forgot that your name was chrysanthemum
because you wilted.

i. trains

And sometimes you forget
to drown.
And sometimes you can’t
lift anything because
of the gauss
caused by glass
and the flaws
redraws, out the universe.

You’ve been waiting for a train
that leaves for tomorrow
since the day that you were born.

And maybe
it’ll arrive today.