Years of My Life

I want not for your despair, but your warmth and comfort.

Like olive shells drawn in and out by tide, thoughts come

and go. Like love and loss and

Beauty and shorelines.

The pit of July, I smile to the yellow yolk of the sun,

Face flushed, smelling of rum and tequila and saltwater.

We eat pickles and salsa and watch parades of firetrucks

on the 4th of July. Consistent,

while we are between white sheets after hot days,

rises the moon.

I want not for your despair, when the leaves age and fall

And crows weep in chilled air.

Think only of childhood sloppy joes on black paved driveways

And piles of autumn your father raked in the front yard.

Of warm apples and sticky candy.

The noise of Nora Jones humming in the background

As your parents wash dishes at the sink.

As you learn to love, making a habit of thinking

Others are a habit and feeling

it in your chest.

I want not for your despair, when Merry

Christmas Darling plays, and Karen Carpenter lulls you

To nostalgia.

Rather think of deep-fried turkeys and silk scarves,

Perfume and pearls. White snow and black

Clean skies. Lit candles and prayers and songs we

Sing, not for belief, but for each other.

Human and alive in the city in December, smoky breaths

In cold air. We breathe.

I want not for your despair, for spring

always creeps into a beautiful thing. Rain dripping out the window

On Sunday morning, it falls on oceans and mountains

And green fields.

Lilies on the table and bread in the oven, we need not

Repent our bad days as birds sing to us. I wear a pale blue

Sundress to the grocery store, afterwards you watch me

laying in damp grass.

Just lovers, tied in knots, we kiss each other’s

Eye lashes until we can emerge

In humid air on the patio to watch the sun paint, to sailor’s delight,

A red sky.

I want not for despair, only clever dreams and musings

Of me and you, those who brought us, and the moon.

A family calling.

Stitched together by the years of my life.