I had a dream that we were burying the lion in the backyard again
and still the hole was too small and the earth too rocky. You jumped
on the shovel, one sneaker firmly planted on each of the spade’s
hips, pushing down and down. I was worried that the shock of it
might split you open. And then we were burying the hole, and we
were burying ourselves inside of it, and we were burying the
backyard and the house it was attached to. The lion got loose,
nobody was watching it. We were busy fighting, and by fighting I
mean I was crying and refilling the bird feeder by myself again. And
you got on the motorcycle anyway. I’m yelling at you because you
won’t be careful with yourself and you’re the only thing that seems
to stick for me. You say that’s not anybody’s fault. Things just
happen like that. Okay. Okay. Come in, leave your rings in the
doorway. Uncross the wiring where I’ve mixed up fear and desire.
I’m not scared anymore, not of you.
I’m not deserving of all that love, you said. It feels wasted on me.
And I have to ask you not to say things like that. When you speak
poorly of yourself, you speak poorly of me, I say. What ever you are,
I am, and I love every stupid inch of you. I don’t know any
different. I can’t imagine how I’d stop.