the miracle
I am so grateful each morning that we have not yet eviscerated each other completely. it sticks in my teeth (the being alive / the not dying). maybe the sky will fall eventually, but today: fervent ripeness, this day another thing to taste the sweetness of. I hold my own hand. call it the response to a suicide note, call it the process of elimination. whatever. it is still soft & sure. tell me: if I stretched out this love do you think it might cover us both? I do. an orchard breath-ed morning swelling around us. nothing like an apocalypse.
the optimism will not hold
so I change my name to the middle of July. all long days and stifling nights. now, my heart does not threaten to break free from my chest. now, every startling noise is a celebration, every head that turns to see has a smile. I clear my throat and even the silence leans in. everything good has a tangible likelihood; especially living into tomorrow. now, my mouth is both gun & firework; I am struggling to let the right one speak. listen; there’s singing from somewhere, but I don’t think it’s me. now, my face is a clock always striking midnight; my throat opens only to close. I am told to ask for what I want; instead I bleed out into a stranger’s flower bed, break a stained glass window that might’ve been mine. now, there’s nothing here that couldn't be a grave given time.
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