I am sitting

I am sitting in the middle section of your mini-van,

Pressed up between you and your two sisters,

And your cousin and your little sister’s best friend.

And then, your parents are in the front seat,

Cracking the ice cubes out of the tray only when the first few notes begin to swell,

And everyone’s squeals reform into scaramouches and fandangos.

I see your little silhouetto, golden and glowing, when I lie down to sleep,

Still, to this day,

As you cradle a littler silhouetto.

I am sitting in third period science class,

Trying not to giggle at the orgasm organism mix-up of the day,

And daydreaming about the cheese fries in the cafeteria,

And chewing on my pen until my gums begin to bleed.

And then, you are beside my desk,

A timid smile flirting with the corners of your lip,

As you raise a sleeve to show me your reflection,

And I am numb.

I am sitting in my above-ground swimming pool,

Straddling a foam noodle,

As we bob to the music we fill the summer breeze with.

The sultry air sticks to our skin and inspires us.

I find in your pressure fear the size of skyscrapers,

Reigning over me as a menace and as protection.

And I am too young to know how famished I am.

I am sitting on the deck, slurping down our secrets,

While you churn on about your flamboyant boyfriend,

And possessive best friend,

And negligent parents,

Pretending there is no choreographed two-step occurring within me,

To keep you, just you.

And all the warmth you are.

I am sitting behind a computer screen in my brother’s bedroom,

Because that’s where we kept the computer those days,

And I see that I am forgotten when not illuminated

And I see that you’d rather share the pieces of you that I carry in my tummy

With those who cannot carry you.

And then, I am the one who cannot carry you.

I can see you and cannot see myself.

I am sitting in an auditorium seat,

With a front-row view to see you wrapped in the arms

Of the boy I tell you preoccupies my nightly hymns.

But there are craters filling my lungs

As I struggle to find the breath to satiate the emptiness now lingering in my pits.

And I claw my arms in desperation to have you taste me again.

I am sitting in my basement, with you pressed to my side,

And Goblet of Fire ricocheting on the TV screen above us.

There’s a playful smile curling the corners of us,

And with delicate palms, we’re reborn as origami swans,

Beaks pressed and nuzzling and nested.

And I am home with you.

I am sitting in the back section of your mini-van,

Pressed up between you and the window,

On the way home from your little sister’s color guard competition,

While your mom’s born-again-Christian music soothes us into each other.

We’re united in this moment, our uniforms all aligned,

Our hands more welded together than intertwined.

And we were one.

I am sitting on my living room couch

When you send me a message to check my mailbox.

And inside I find not bills, because this was long before either of us knew those,

But a large white envelope,

Filled with all the ways and reasons and excuses you’ve found to love me,

All the ways you found to see me, feel me, know me.

I wrapped the key to your heart around my neck,

And was made whole.

I am sitting in your new backyard,

Surrounded by strangers as you introduce me to the man

You will, unbeknownst to you, eternally weld yourself to.

And I am angry and I call it concern

For you and your well-being,

But I think we both see truth.

And it was the last time I pressed to you

And the last time I breathed you.

And now I find solace in your happiness

Built around a home that I must watch through icy windows.