I Wanted to Tell You

[This is an excerpt from a longer piece. Note: Formatting on mobile appears different than the original one displayed on desktop].


Yes

It is a map

My body a piece Your body another History memory bereavement another Desire another

Countryside accent, Catholic upbringing, trauma, dysphorias,

the privilege the responsibility of asking questions and writing

the dimensions of grief

Fingers

Shaping the contours of the ear Waves grazing echoing

Is it time to wake up yet No we just went to bed

We are only a little older which means we are alive I know you love

breakfast but that is not until the morning Let’s open the window

Let’s smell the California rain a moment longer I knew I loved

you because in this same bed you were sick and I wanted to be

closer I wanted

to tell you in a church where we have never been we held hands

Stood breathing in silence near the pews at the back And I found

myself naked dripping holy water An unfamiliar wind from the doors ajar

Hold me I’m wet

How do you want to me? I ask

I answer: I’ll tell you how to

I’ll guide you how to I’ll hold

your hand while you improvise

I’ll give you my consent

I’ll teach you how to use me and you

listen


The afternoon is crawling singing between

silences we

trace labyrinths on my back

warmer

Sound and shape of the air weigh faster and heavier

At the edge of each path on my skin my breathing treads

lightly pause heavily

I fall to my knees

At the edge of each story on the skin meaning breaks down

Now with your fingers follow the maze, I say

The night on its back is shy and with its mouth open

As long as I know I’ll be leaving again, I can go back to the place where I was born

Of course it hurts



© 2020 by Marina Romani. Draft, unpublished.


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 © Marina Romani 2020