Earthtoana

I am holding your hand in the hospital / I am half-asleep on the couch in another state and you are in the hospital / I am in the front seat of a pickup truck / and you are hopping a fence to pick me wildflowers / I am smearing berries on my face, pretending they are warpaint / and you are on the roof, framed by the sun / you are the roof / you are the sun / you are in the hospital / I am one thousand, five hundred miles away from the hospital / I am in Texas to prove a point to someone / only I can’t remember what the point is anymore / pride is funny like that / my mother tells me once a month that you quit smoking the day I was born / because she wants me to believe you are a good man / and I do / even if there is a shortage in my life of men who are good / even if there is a shortage in your life of women whom you were good to / you are in the hospital and this is the first time I can’t afford a ticket home / don’t know what to do with the luggage of my grief when I can’t shove it onto a plane / you are teaching me how to scale and gut a fish / and I am holding the knife / I am not holding your hand in the hospital / but I am still holding the knife