DeanneBrooke.com

If you don’t believe in the lyrics, I don’t know why you sing along.

I can still remember that sunset and the sound of the little waves breaking on the side of the boat-

it’s always the music and his shoes and his sweatshirt…it’s his brother telling me I can wish my eyes to blue…

and that anytime I’m ever cold I can just wear his coat.

I believed in the words though, you know…and I still believe them today.  I can still weave all of the threads together-

I could never truly turn you away.  The end of the rope is like the seawall at the lake-it’s the end of the line and it’s too much to take.  No one ever wants to go in, they just want to buy more time.  They want to see you say hi again…they don’t want you to turn yourself in.

That shiny blue bowl with the water running over…that’s the one stormy thing that makes me think of you.  Your glasses and your black bathing suit…and your breathing getting slower.  It was all of those ghost stories I think-making the laps around the house in the dark disappear as soon as our swollen fears started to sink.

You with your beauty mark and me with brown eyes-

you had a few inches on me, but we were both caught up in opposing side’s lines.

But then sidelines and Starry Eyes and a broken rib or two at the lake-

he was never the one who broke the rules, but the blame was all set out up there-and the ghost stories were piling up, but they were undoubtedly only mine to take.

It was me who was holding your head when you had fallen down-

it was me who was so excited when I heard that you would be coming around.

It rained that first day you came.

I wonder now if you would recognize me on the street.  I wonder if you’d remember that I didn’t have a beauty mark-

but maybe in its place…I had a middle name.

d.b.r.

1.4.2010

it’s a final sweeping motion that runs over the surface of something…like a lake, but maybe it’s just a river.  maybe there are rocks underneath, some that are visible from the shore, from the bank.  maybe there are some that you cannot see though, too.  then there is a desire to get in the water.  there could be a desire to get to the other side.  should we go together?  i could stay in the water or go to the other side.  we could always get back in the water.  if you would stay with me there, in that place with the sweeping motion on the surface…i would deal with the cold.  i usually want the cold…it wakes me up.  people usually talk about the water making them new…but it always takes me back.  maybe new again?  but never new for the first time, you just can’t get back there.

counting the rocks will keep us busy, we could give them names.  we could identify them by their color or by their shape.  we could remember them by the wounds they cause.  the wounds are all wrapped up for now.  wouldn’t you miss them if they were gone?  it’s good to heal like this.  sometimes i’m not sure if you can see it that way…but the hurt is only real when the healing starts.  it has to be that way.

you can argue away all of the insensitivities…i’m just going to start remembering the verses.  the embraces that come creeping up first in my mind.  i’m replacing everything that never frayed…because those things are not worth holding.  i’ll hold the mistakes and the harsh words, the expressions you showed to me that you never meant to give away.  you gave them to me, and i’ll keep them all.

i’ll keep the little arguments too, the little sorry and the little scar.  we’ll get dressed up and you will touch my face.  we will smile at the same time…and forget every other place.

d.b.r.

12.29.09