i ache, oh, every part of me aches
he just left my house
pressing sticky salty kisses to my lips
as moths batter themselves on the glass
of my front door and the streetlights
flash and flash and flash
what i would give (anything
almost anything) to have stopped time,
to have stopped the tears that
wouldn’t stop until there were no more
left to cry.  my head hurts
my nose is running.  i want to fall asleep
and wake up in a few years or so.

raining today;
the air is hot and muggy
and it feels like summer
except when the rain is falling
on my shoulders and hair –
then it feels like spring.
so much to do
so many forms to submit
i don’t want to touch them
just want to pretend like
time is stopped, i’m not going
anywhere.
Micah leaves tomorrow.

i was going to write more,
but i’m pretty sure that last sentence
encompasses everything.

there it is again;
i can feel it behind my eyelids,
in my throat and in my hands
convulsively closing on –
what?  air, the lining of my pocket
the arm of a chair or
Micah’s fingers, holding on –
to what?  summer time:
late nights and softly whirring fans,
walks on the pier, Alterra coffee
gentle kisses on my shoulder blade
falling asleep all tangled up
i’m still trying to hold on, even as
summer’s slipping away,
even as Micah finishes work
begins to pack
prepares to leave
there’s that prickling, again
my eyes trying to fill with tears
for what?  i’m not losing anything
am i?  he’s still mine, this city is still mine
i ache for my childhood, and certainty
the knowledge that there is no
greater concern than what flavor of
popsicle is available to me.
i want to roll myself up into a ball
and hide my head from growing up
from letting go
(again, and again, and again –
i’m always letting go, or trying to)
this deep melancholy encompasses
much more than the end of summer;
i know that
but i can’t help it, the breaking point
is knowing he’ll be gone in 8 days
i’m blinking, swallowing hard
smiling
because the only reason i’m sad
is that i’m so damn happy,
after all.

this afternoon, i sat on the
screen porch at Braeburn
watching the rain drip off the eaves
reading a good book
that reminded me of high school
Micah was reading beside me,
until head nodding, leaning on my shoulder
his hands giving those funny little
jumps, like always, he fell asleep.
i listened to the rain on the roof
remember being little, watching
waiting for the sun
so we could swim and play
and remember David, in out of the rain
dashing past him into the downpour
feeling it on my skin and face and hair
Micah slept, a reassuring warm weight.
yesterday we canoed the river
sunlight and clouds, the whole world
open above and the riverbed
in ripples below
and camped out on a sand bar
not far from home, built a fire
cooked our own dinner
and as the sun set, we lay together in
our tiny tent, reading together
and fell asleep side by side
we didn’t have to think about
school, or work, or our futures
we could just
stare into the fire, slapping mosquitos,
watching the river slip past
and when we were tired,
we turned off our lamps and went to sleep.
it was a beautiful week of vacation;
i’m sad it’s over –
especially when i remember that
2 weeks from now is the last time
i’ll see him until October;
8 weeks apart (we’ve done this,
we have, it’s not so hard, i know, i know)
already i feel the tears in me
the unfairness eats me up, and life isn’t fair
the world isn’t fair, and aren’t i a lucky girl?
this summer has been up and down
and gone by much too quickly
i don’t want to say goodbye again.