Monday Poetry with Melissa Fry Beasley. Dec. 14, 2013. Any Week in December
Dec 14, 2013
Any Week In December
I have been many miles
to escape your memory.
I have such a long history
of being eaten and scattered.
Bones are only emotion the body retains,
as we are orphaned of our more important pieces.
I longed for the numbness of the Nebraska nothingness,
and prayed for Wyoming winds to blow you out of my mind.
Kansas only makes me think of your dark eyes.
Arizona is like your skin in a desert that has no edge.
The open country of New York left me reaching for your hand
which was nowhere near me.
Those mountains and rivers felt like our love before even the stars could touch us.
I have been in the company of bees and ghosts, burning daylight like oil.
Spirits stopped me short in South Dakota,
but didn’t bury my heart in wounded knee.
Instead they say I went crazy.
Was up on the roof of that old rez car
counting coup with my lips and hips by the end of the night.
But even with that, you never disappear completely.