The weather app promised clear skies & I said more because don’t our bodies require heat? When my back split open from sunburns, out poured the Chippewa river & a siege of herons. I haven’t been sleeping; thankfully you apply aloe while I contemplate dirt roads. Maybe I’ll never stop picking these mosquito bites; what a way to feel closer to god. Are we done apologizing? Memory loops of our past as I watch live performances from those summers in the woods. A lotis at sky height. Remember that storm in Eau Claire & how we huddled together under a cheap poncho? Our own cave. Eventually we emerged to our tangled breaths running away. My mother asked about marriage again. I’m tired of constantly justifying every promise I make to you in silence. How you are forever my favorite blue & every shade hiding in the gamut. I keep returning to the line what I have & haven’t held & the way you laugh at the coffee I spill on the kitchen floor; a river carrying our two bodies home.
Steve Merino (he/him) is a poet from Saint Paul, MN. His work can be found in Ghost City Review, the Under Review, and others. Full publications listed at linktr.ee/steve_merino. Follow him on Twitter @steve_merino.