May 21, 2024

a form of ballet

What if I’ve written all the poems, made all of the chocolate chip cookies,
done all the loads of laundry. What if I’ve drunk all the cups of coffee,
shoveled all the driveways, sent all the letters. What if the mess in the garage 
is the closest I’ll get to the big cleanup, and what if the injuries my heart’s 
sustained are as healed as they‘ll become, and what if I’ll only move to Hawaii 
in my dreams. But what if maybe my thoughts are actually a form of ballet, 
and when I do that thing where I close my eyes when I’m talking, I’m dancing 
on tiptoe. What if my memory hasn’t failed me, and that when I forgot a name,
I’ve remembered a feeling. What if everything I know is an atlas of places I can
keep returning to, and what if my love is a car that will never run out of gas.