There is no tidying up of the animal
that is the human soul
You once told me when I was a great listener—
back when you were sneaky and generous, with fifty dollars
so I could buy Seven-Eleven nachos
to my heart’s content on my seventeenth
with extra nacho cheese.
Every magazine, slurpees poured on repeat—
nothing beat December 17, laughing down aisles,
too young for cigarettes. Yet our lives depended on it.
We learned the lighter only lights if you pull the mittens off.
A passerby saw our future hanging in the balance.
There in the sharp spark.
There in the flicker of streetlight,
igniting our safe path home, our first taste of tobacco.
We drew first drags as pure as snowy downtown streets
that counted on us to drag
our starry-eyed,
unformed, bursting selves
in circles around each begging block
like a dog on his first walk.
And all the drags were breaths well spent—
building a rope in the dark, strand by strand,
through thirty years of aisles
and mediocre men.
that is the human soul
You once told me when I was a great listener—
back when you were sneaky and generous, with fifty dollars
so I could buy Seven-Eleven nachos
to my heart’s content on my seventeenth
with extra nacho cheese.
Every magazine, slurpees poured on repeat—
nothing beat December 17, laughing down aisles,
too young for cigarettes. Yet our lives depended on it.
We learned the lighter only lights if you pull the mittens off.
A passerby saw our future hanging in the balance.
There in the sharp spark.
There in the flicker of streetlight,
igniting our safe path home, our first taste of tobacco.
We drew first drags as pure as snowy downtown streets
that counted on us to drag
our starry-eyed,
unformed, bursting selves
in circles around each begging block
like a dog on his first walk.
And all the drags were breaths well spent—
building a rope in the dark, strand by strand,
through thirty years of aisles
and mediocre men.
And what of heavy dreams boxed up and shelved away?
And what of every birthday as an extension of our expiration dates?
And what of being turned away, again, this time
too young to nurse and bury our mothers?
But we did—
because our lives still depend on rites of passage.
You can see the stars leaving our eyes and strands turning grey.
So here we are, standing in the aisle, buying boxed
dye to hide the evidence that it’s 2025.
I need to hear the flicker
that lasts
one-tenth of a second.
Does a death or a birth
sound the same?
And what if you had saved a little more for yourself?
And what if I hadn’t spent it all in the first place?
And what if you were generous again?
And what if I still listened well?
I’m listening
I’m listening
back now.
Hang in there.
It only works if you pull the mitten off.
Take my hand, let’s go toward December.
And what of every birthday as an extension of our expiration dates?
And what of being turned away, again, this time
too young to nurse and bury our mothers?
But we did—
because our lives still depend on rites of passage.
You can see the stars leaving our eyes and strands turning grey.
So here we are, standing in the aisle, buying boxed
dye to hide the evidence that it’s 2025.
I need to hear the flicker
that lasts
one-tenth of a second.
Does a death or a birth
sound the same?
And what if you had saved a little more for yourself?
And what if I hadn’t spent it all in the first place?
And what if you were generous again?
And what if I still listened well?
I’m listening
I’m listening
back now.
Hang in there.
It only works if you pull the mitten off.
Take my hand, let’s go toward December.