Dedication: To The One I Will Marry
Not too long after you tell me about your mother–how she, at 7, lost her father in World War II, how she grew to live with his ghost, the love he could not give–I see a coyote in the night, running below a billboard for $12 roses. I wonder, if all the lonely people of this world could fit roses into our bodies’ stories, tell me: Will the woman I marry come down from a future’s heaven
just to place each petal in my mouth, a kiss?
Will we all heal when heaven meets flower?
Will I find miracle when her finger presses my tongue?
Will she make her way here–worn from traveling through time–reaching out, hungry and tired, wishing for me to love her
just as much as I have always wanted to find something wild and rare and lone, traveling like a warrior through the night?
I found a warrior once.
She ran like a soldier searching for horizon.
Gun in her hands, she ran far from me.
She said, “We’ve been through battle.”
She said, “I love you.”
And then she was gone, over the moon, like a fairytale.
Maybe one day she will shoot for the Earth, and I’ll catch her golden bullet between my teeth, finding its place as an egg in a nest of roses.
Then, a woman from the future will wear a ring that matches mine.
Maybe she will open me like an oyster, hold the cluster of roses–bullet dead center–in her hands. Maybe she will place this gift deep between my lungs. Maybe she will follow right after. Maybe she will become a coyote in the night. Maybe she will become the thing that shapes each bomb inside of me.
just to place each petal in my mouth, a kiss?
Will we all heal when heaven meets flower?
Will I find miracle when her finger presses my tongue?
Will she make her way here–worn from traveling through time–reaching out, hungry and tired, wishing for me to love her
just as much as I have always wanted to find something wild and rare and lone, traveling like a warrior through the night?
I found a warrior once.
She ran like a soldier searching for horizon.
Gun in her hands, she ran far from me.
She said, “We’ve been through battle.”
She said, “I love you.”
And then she was gone, over the moon, like a fairytale.
Maybe one day she will shoot for the Earth, and I’ll catch her golden bullet between my teeth, finding its place as an egg in a nest of roses.
Then, a woman from the future will wear a ring that matches mine.
Maybe she will open me like an oyster, hold the cluster of roses–bullet dead center–in her hands. Maybe she will place this gift deep between my lungs. Maybe she will follow right after. Maybe she will become a coyote in the night. Maybe she will become the thing that shapes each bomb inside of me.
