liminal.

The train barrels by, tossing sun
like lightning into my living room,
and I am out the door and onto
a footbridge, names in graffiti
as I descend a staircase rust red,
everyone wants their permanent
mark, and there we are, rooftop
corner, and what if I just
don’t dream of this anymore?

My childhood is Indiana summer,
chlorine skin and fresh-cut grass,
the sound of a marching band in
summer, nothing to do and
everything is possible anyway,
car-hood conversations through
a sunset rinsed blue, nobody fidgeting
cause they’ve got somewhere better to be.

The day is coming I will set this
down, close the chapter, I
won’t burn this city but I
won’t look back either, arrived
with the wisdom that nothing worth
loving will force you to hustle,
then tore off at a sprint, concrete
miles, the thunderous lights, spilling
out of bars at the sunrise, and
marveling at the blur.

I am my own constant company, I’ve
nursed every bruise and
scrape on this body, spun gold from
the rust cuts in my story, mined
pearls from the tears in my
sternum, painted meaning into
memories, a heavy gift, but
I’m well learned in the carrying.

There is nothing I have loved
I have ever known how to love halfway,
the city was a miracle even as it
broke my bones, and you were the
best friend I’ve ever known, whether
you ever meant to stay, I have
loved you, eyes unblinking, and this
is my ‘permanent mark,’ my name
in graffiti as you whisk right on
by, a love who doesn’t know
better than to love you in full.