Tuesday, May 5, 2009

rushwrite 4 may 2009

How can I miss something I have never had?

I miss the way I held you in my dream.

You were mine,
And I held you.

You were new to this earth,
And I was yours.

I held you.

A soft new towel to swaddle you in.

I miss the way my hand supported your head.

I miss your eyes.
Your mouth.
Your round belly.

I miss you.

You had no name to me yet,
But I knew our blood forged the bond between us.

Sometimes it's just you.
Sometimes you're a girl.
Sometimes you're a boy.
I hope it doesn't disturb you--no set sex.
It seems no cause for alarm to me;
Just dreamland making dreamy sense like usual.

Sometimes it's just you with me.
Sometimes, like last night, more accompany you.

Last night you had two older sisters.
All of you were mine.
I was all of yours.
And I miss you all.

I ask this question too:
Who stands,
Who sits,
Who stays
Beside me?

For in dream, there is no one.

Not even a phantom
Not even a wisp of tangible air
Not even a vanishing flash

No one.
No one here now either.

I stand


Almost solitary.
Solitarily missing you.

Visit me again soon.
I already miss you.
I miss you already.
I will always miss you.
I always will miss you.

And this part might not make sense:
Even when you come, I might still miss you;
I might be in such shock that you've finally let me hold you for real,
For the first time--
We will be each others.