When Our Arms Can’t Reach, Our Voices Ocean Away

She apologizes.

Sorry, you are

a better friend

than I am.

She wishes

ten more hours

in a day, lavishing

poems, commets,

letters my altitude

rather than production

opening/closing curtains

before I can ask. May

we exchange heart

beside beat or two?

I looked up, eyes

closed, smirking.

Palms open-ended

question: is she serious?

I think of you, Jesus.

You’ve sat beside me,

feet dangling over

the beside, light

dim. I wander


our world

too loud


making mark

on pavement.

Our flesh knows

not quick listening,

our mouths agape

self-talk—my obsessive

sharing poetry, music,

life grief I can’t articulate,

hope I’ve placed in momentary,

forgetting I cant grasp what was

never mine. Speech comes anything

but slow. I am hasty with anger,

spurting question after question,

statement after statement

Why is she gone? isn’t prevalent

as why am I afraid I’ll never wake?

Why can’t I relate- wanting shut myself

inside whitespace where breath is one.

I am no better friend , giving flawed

loyalty, emptying need to be heard,

seen because attention is selfish.

I want to share my secrets with anyone

with eardrums wide open, hand against

trembling. I know my life now

plays sad song montages of yesterday—

her underneath the windowsill, reading

Miracles, asking if I need a hand, after

I throw a tantrum because I can’t accept

undeserving smile when I turn child.

The way she curled herself into a mystery,

oblivious to people passing by, asking

if I was okay. If I was bored waiting for her

to find out who done it—the painter or someone else?

How she skipped to the end, though I would’ve stayed

til close, so she could stay lost, unhurried beauty

in lighted chaos.

When I sobbed, time

moving seconds closer to her peering

through the window after goodbye.

She kissed my head, asking you

to be my center, shh over my heart.

I’’m drinking a frappe, large enough

for my mind to sputter tired nonsense

until you place finger to my hungry lips.

Jesus, if I could board a plane to foreign land

she spreads your smile, imprinted absent

commotion, I’d echo this truth: a friend

loves at all times, regardless quantity,

the quality of love

through a screen,

reminds me I’m known,

unforgotten. Jesus

shared his life with those

we would deem unworthy.

Whenever you look in my eyes,

I am aware of my deep sensitivity,

him staring back at me.

My offering seems pitiful,

but oh Jesus, let your

arms wrap her in embrace,

erasing senseless apology.


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