Can I write you a poem about the ways we’re matted together,
fern fronds and patchwork leaves,
water and rust-mud clay?
I want to remind you that despite our best efforts at primping and pristine self-care,
we’re made of tattered boot leather most days,
gathered in bunches and baskets
a tangle of thoughts and feelings,
often not knowing each other but still somehow
better together.
I would like to be the needle and thread
that draws our colors close,
making a gathered, quilted thing
that lets us marvel at being.
I want to write you a poem that reminds you
the face in the mirror is not very real,
just a chance, some hope, and leftover morsels from last nights dreams,
only becoming tangible when we’re together
or reminded of our greater family through poems or heart messages
glimmering through our eyes
when we’ve stopped talking,
and thinking.
I want to write you that poem,
and serve it to you when you need it most.
