fire

It has been almost two years
since I saw your fire:
four
since the fire began

we had carved out a little corner of the shop
sat on coffee sacks and had laughed before it had all happened

since

there was a little voice over the phone
and intentional restringing of the needle, the thread
after I apologized and I meant it
I hadnt wanted to hurt you

I remember
a story about guns and coffee and him stepping over you while you lay on the ground
minimal chit and chat about the boyfriend, the worship circle, the church
i remember the moment at the wedding when you told me to keep my hair long
it was my trade mark

ive since cut it off. it was a year and a half ago. you havent ever seen it.

the voice, line stretched across the states
ziggzagging a few stitches between what was ripped up
but it will not be the same, can it

your sisters told me it was ok, to continue on, to go ahead
that you would be alright, that I hadnt done anything wrong but
you said I had betrayed you and I hadnt meant to

I will see you tomorrow, fire

i dont know what it will be like
or where I will put my hands
or if you will try to hug me
or if you will mean it

is it because I expect to see it, bitterness, anger, jealousy,
or is it because it is there

i dont know. but I will see you tomorrow.

i wish that I could tell you that
I love who you are
that I know a small fraction of where you are because I have been there
that I hope the best for you
that I am sorry if there is still saddness
I wish I had waited
I wish it hadnt ruined all of this
that maybe someday years from now
with the same Jesus in us both
you and I will recognize each other again
and become the friends we were meant to be
and once were

because I love you and your fire and eclectic style and the cartoon of your hands and the way you love the earth and I could never bring myself to do anything but pot plants

i love you

alot.