Notes on the Other Side of Silence

One.
Someday you’ll wake up and realize
you haven’t been sleeping
Her morning breath whispered in my ear half asleep
half a bottle of wine still sloshing in my eardrums
Last night we ate guacamole out of a tortilla boat
and talked about other coasts
I said I’ve been afraid of flying lately
Afraid of the sky sucking me back up
into where I came from
And she says that’s completely ridiculous Sarah-
You come from the earth dammit
And I believe her
This is the only thing that’s made sense to me in 93 days.

Two.
When I try to see into tomorrow
the only postcard I get back is a wall
So he asks me to tell him what my bricks are made of
I don’t know I say
he says TRY
and I say I don’t know
and he says TRY
and I say one
is for the visionary that lives under the bridge in my lungs
Two is for the day I wake up inflated with your prologue
Three is for the voiceless, broken, can’t make sense
of why this is important
Four is for the fear that the bricks are always present
and that God is not inside these clouds
Five is the clouds, beating chaos into my mornings
Six is that broken girls don’t make good lovers
Seven is that I will never fly again, never love the sky again
never hold the hand and feel that I
deserve that warmth again,
I fear that I may never look at my reflection
in the mirror or the clouds or your eyeball
and know that is me again.
I feel that I may never feel like me again.

And it’s funny, really, his silence
Im waiting for him to pull me close, closer and whisper
“Baby, Lets deconstruct this Babylon together”

Three.
The bombshell in front of me at the Post Office
is wearing Seven Jeans
For Man-fucking-kind I think
Her painted toes remind me how pathetic I am, I think
She puts her padded manila envelope on the desk
smothered in hearts and kisses
And asks them how quickly a first class package
can arrive in Iraq

Nobody really has all their shit together.