. . .

I’ve known love

as often as I’ve known

the pace of a robin as it hops across dewy grass;

as often as I’ve heard

laughter from the second subway car

or balcony, the best friend, teasing;

as often as I’ve tasted

my mom’s breaded chicken cutlets after soccer practice.

On American lawns, on each grain of sand

in a faraway desert my feet will never know:

this Earth has known love

and I, a miracle, happenstance, through it.

There are days I am made to doubt

the sunshine on the window pane

or how the shadows play games with the bodega cat

at 3pm in my backyard – how these moments

drip with love, are dosed in it.

How the love I’ve been taught to seek

comes from a scarcity well that’s never filled

because it was never meant to be —

and so I wait. I sulk, occasionally.

I sit with a tub of ice cream and watch Legally Blonde

while outside, the moon glows, sends down

soft light onto the sidewalk squares

and stained glass on church walls.

If love isn’t connection and uniqueness,

isn’t a miracle, isn’t a gift,

then I am okay with the advertisements,

the data tracking and the screen staring.

Y’all can keep that love.

I’m going to count this bird’s footsteps

and sit in the silence of its absence.

Now inspired by the ellipses: https://www.thepunctuationguide.com/ellipses.html . . . and photo credit to https://www.flickr.com/photos/flaneur/1472166578/

April 22, 2021