by KELLY ZEN-YIE TSAI
IMAGE/Northeastern Illinois University
scrape dirty dishes
cinch garbage bags to set on curb
snap sheets and let them float
to the skin of the mattress
find each other at the end of the night
flicking off the light
find each other
two in a swaggering mass of six billion
two, breathing beneath touch, blood, warmth,
the subtle arrangement of bones
find each each other
learn to express this miracle, daily
this quiet so deep, so full of sound
more layered than any midnight jungle
full of creatures that claw and bite
but do not tonight
on this surface, where you lay yourselves down
where you will shed yourselves, grow into unfamiliar spines,
wake up as someone new
kiss this, love, the remnants of the old life
kiss this, love, the rawness of what emerges
if love is the fire that must be tended
if love is the stone polished by the storm
if love is the fruit that must be plucked in the right season
if love is the seed re-planted from what’s left of the fruit
find each other inside this miracle, daily
as the coffee maker breaks
as the hospital doors open
as the conversations cloud dense and impenetrable
as the clearing comes
these moments are also the white gown,
the pressed black tuxedo, the communities come
together with champagne glasses in hand
to celebrate this striving for
love
bind these two lives together
ever-changing
dancing again and again
like you did to that first song
Kelly Tsai’s blog is Yellow Gurl