ON OVERCOMING GAMOPHOBIA |
Since your silence scares me, be roadkill, be oil spill, be the elevator that stalled on its way down. Let me learn to love the quiet; let’s learn to speak without noise. And since I despise tight spaces, locked doors, uncertainty: lock us in a room in the dark, or in a storm shelter—love, take me subterranean and then take me, let me take you. You know odd numbers make me nervous, so how about I ghost the five fingers of my left hand over all seven bones of your neck? If I’m bonnet, be breeze and blow me away. But take me with you. If I’m shut-eyed, be shuddering breath, be the sound you make when I touch your chest. If I’m oak, be Spanish moss so we can grow together, so I can grow rings to give you, so you can wrap yourself around me. If I’m weed, be gardener and uproot me. If I’m week, be -end so we can spend Sunday morning in bed, so we can bake bread. If I’m night, be nightlight so I can find you in the dark. If I’m crocus, be rainfall, be honeybee and, honey, come be with me. |