Diary of someone who opens an email

1.

You open an email
finger tips and bleeps and
clicks fade out until all
you hear: a Styrofoam
squeak –
nails digging into
morning coffee

You open an email
the whole world rushes out
you inhale, you exhale
the whole world surges back
– ten times harder
because of what you read
because of what you learn
because of the fact that
life will never take the
direction that you secretly
hoped it would, the one you
were too scared to wish for
out loud so you kept it
on reserve.

Can we go back to when
we first met?

Can we go back to Brooklyn
when ketchup fell from your
mouth like a teardrop?

Can we go back to dancing
on rooftops, pretending
all the lights are satisfied
smiles of mothers that never
showed up?

2.

A swarm of fireflies wavered between a large oak
tree and me: on your porch, an apple in my hand,
saving it like you said, wondering how long this would take.

The window framed that kitchen scene – a shoebox
diorama from hell, I saw your head smash
against the refrigerator door, somewhere
else a seagull dropped on chalky rocks, I still
don’t know why I sat there, it seemed more
important, so you’d have something to eat after.

3.

We sat amidst in-rolling walls of
morning mist, that god awful beach where
even the sea seemed to sigh. You –
tapping on a lunchbox spoke about
sex and death as if they meant the same

I just wanted you to stop

The wind plucked tears out of my eyes, beneath
the surface I made my lips touch yours
like kissing a corpse, some other place –
an apple pie baked, I’m sorry I
was too alive
to notice

4.

In a Brooklyn diner we acknowledged
the unacceptable present, refill
after refill, half-honest slurps from a
boundless black ocean, your hand on your heart
my hand on my throat, slowing down the time

I ordered a number nine, you left before it arrived,
I pretended not to care, the waitress told me
a story about some crazy-eyed hurricane but all
I saw was the back of your head drifting further away
swallowed by a crowd, further away –
I should have thought forever

5.

The attachment tells me
nothing but –
a digitized death
a storm caught in a
coffee mug, if only it
showed your bones, wherever
they are so I could be
reminded

there was love
once

even if it wasn’t long lasting