all of my eyes watch you
even my skin is watching you.

my fingers ache for words
pigment of oil
and you

the you i see when you first said i love you
the you i see carefully being born beneath the good instruction of other men like water rising and falling over the rough parts of your stone
the you i see when there is an idea in your womb
your eyes like fire
birth it into mine.

We stare straight 

There are 

No words to string together

All of a sudden the walls are intricate 

This water necessary 

And the red leaves of the balsam trees elaborate

Thank goodness she's a fast pee-er 

ET

it happened to me too
i get it

The devil had barely spoken but

I already believed every word

It took years 

To restore my brain

Could anxiety be a demon, I suppose he could be

Lurking about

Lusting for weakness

Maybe it makes him feel strong to try drown this well lit girl

The thing is is:

Something that holds light cannot be snuffed out

Because while the devil is pouring water on her fire

The holy spirits pours oil

Fish

I watch all of his fingers tremble

He feet barely move

Across the hospital floor as we accidentally take the long way

To the ER

They hook him up

The needles the bed the tiny robot whose mouth bites over his finger to check all the levels the blood the heartbeat

Nurse, she is like a dock for a boat

In the storm

Calm and able and stretched along side of him carefully putting into words what we all want to scream

You could have died

Rehab is the best option

Everyone is shaking their heads yes

Even he is this time

So they take him

I can hear my moms voice over her text

She says her organs are breaking

But her hands are empty of solutions 

Which is a rarity 

No closet

No dresser

Six metal bunk beds 

As if this is a jail cell

Visiting hours are on the weekend

He knows no one 

And then we just leave him there as if he deserves punishment or something of the sort 

Belize

You watch us, Papa

The three of us here

Sand between our toes

The wind breaking the heat of the sun in half

Eleven boats bop below the Pelicans 

One paddle broader unafraid

Though the waves are choppy 

like cement along a stone wall

Without rhythm 

Mustang 

The palms lean in toward the wind

Their shoulders 

& body tilted 

Firm

You will find my husband like a fish

Wet 

And unafraid of the break of the water

When I first met him he was clad and tall in Hawaiian shorts

His hair long and untamed like the water today

I think water is his home

I do not find this place 

to be a small thing

And I hope I never will

Become unaware of how large a gift it is

To sit here 

The sun massaging all of us

Soaking into our skin 

I hope I never become ungrateful 

Or expectant 

Of such lush and tropical things 

The break of water on the reef 

The week away from snow

The bacon fresh on the grill

Santa behind it, wooden spoon

Perfect eggs

The quiet woman with soft bones and a fierce spirit who cut all of the fruit and makes sure we are full of vegetables 

Here, One of the sisters I never had who is bold

Confident 

And sure 

The reflections of the sun sparkling 

The teal of the water 

You watch us, and you must know

I am thankful. 

Thursday, Dec. 10.

The wooden spoon scraped against the onions and the bottom of the pan as he looked up, smiling proudly 

"Ken taught me a few things about cooking," he said, "how to caramelize onions by cooking them for a long time on low." Bending over, he softened the flame so it barely produced heat

The fire, soft, like the sound of a humming bird or a tide on a windless morning 

His back bent like the shape of a capital L

I poked at the onion on the table with my finger like you would poke a jellyfish in the sand 

Earlier this week, he explained to me, I cut off the rotten half of that onion. Then he carefully showed me how he would go about dissecting the rest of it and where to make the incision to remove the brown off the other leaves to still preserve the good white flesh. 

I hugged him in the kitchen later that day crying that I wanted him to just be free... He hugged me back, comforting and stiff like an L, confused as to what parts of him there were left to cut off to get there. 

Family and turkey

To leave is a sad sickening feeling 

The feeling you get at an airport or when someone put just the right flair to a eulogy and people are both laughing and crying 

It is s good sick sad feeling leaving home

Every

Single

Time.

Mom bags food for us to take home, each of us with our serving of mashed potatoes and dark and white meat

Sweet potatoes between the beans and the stuffing like the middle seat of a car 

Uncomfortable and orange 

Dad leans far over the sink

This is one of the first years I've seen him so engaged in the process 

Scrubbing the China and stacking it like little men that Mom cares for each holiday

Heaven forbid it be dishwashed 

Dad is a warrior today, 

The turkey knife buzzing like a tattoo gun or hair trimmers rattling behind an ear

The hustling

Jazz music plays and he names every song during our movie as if we are quizzing him

But we aren't 

Joe and K stretch far across the couches and between pillows their hands intertwined or comfortable across 

Sleeping next to each other 

This is good. I see that this is good despite any heated normal arguments or love songs waiting to be written or jobs as bartenders 

You are still walking forward and I am happy to watch. 

My insides hurt for the broken parts of this little body, this family 

The alcohol breath and the socks of a brother who now has been asked to care for himself

It is time 

The socks that haven't been cleaned in a month 

& then the stiff brother who is soft and strong like a lion 

Relearning to laugh 

With red eyes because he has meant it when he had been told to cry out

He sits through the entire movie though

Even enjoys it

And I'm proud of his lingering

This normality that was uncommon a year ago 

We are talking now about dating instead of eating and I find that to be a huge improvement 

I'm sick sometimes because my love for them is so large 

Max says I'm always stitching or trying for years

And he is right 

I was never going to cause issues 

It was my job to help

And it worked until 

I fell apart too and didn't know how to ask for help myself 

I know now 

Max is normal

Crammed behind the TV trying to get the football station to Come in strong

Beckoning Josiah to the roof 

Like its normal 

He has been my normal 

And has loved my quirky family like I love them 

And I'm grateful for all of it

My grandma with her bad leg and wide set eyes that she gave me and her sweet sweet spirit

The time she took today, rubbing my back... Something I can't ever remember her doing before. 

My Grandpa in plaid and in love holding her by her elbow, coughing up some nonsense about how our cousin shouldnt date someone who is not our kind

Our kind?? Meaning white?

We are messy and set in our ways and hurtful and hurting but

There is still love

And I'm so so grateful for this mess and this no matter what kind of love

Family. 

J

You

Are far away

Puncturing the English culture with your Bengali American flare 

Bustling around 

I see you there in the park

Snipping at pine trees with your small scissors 

Maybe wearing long and green Hunter boots

On your tiptoes

Olive beside you, or some such child 

The table is set

I can't imagine because I have just got up

But hey

That is the difference between here and there 

The ocean stretching his legs out between us 

Not building a bridge 

I wish everyone knew what I knew about you

You are strong

Yet kind and so

People don't always know

You've been thinking about this meal all week and yet 

When people enter your home

You will greet them which such comfort that

They'll think your home always looks this warm this cozy this handsome 

That you possibly just whipped the food up

They'll feel this way because you,J, will love them

And it will outweigh the food

Or the decor

Though those pine nips are adorable

C

Bon Iver is there 

Licking the noise 

You and I have chosen him over Christmas music 

The hour carries on and charcoal pencils scratch at the surface of black paper

Acrylic paint falls from tubes like a druel 

You throw down your paintbrush after I speak

and I find your tiny art in the trash

The paint is raised and the darks are brilliant next to the white 

The edges are cut imperfectly and close to the reflective objects 

carefully I compliment and critique because both of these you have blown up at saying 

I'm lying because you can do better and I'm lying 

Quietly I ask if we can talk after class while you project your feelings about your work onto me as if I said those rude things that you have said to yourself as you try and build the color

You stand 

all of yourself turned into your oversized Levi jean jacket

Hair long and rude over your shoulders 

The apron packed away 

No septum piercing today 

all I have said is

You could be an artist someday...for real, and I love your style, and great work on the tonal value 

Maybe develop this spot a little more 

And you remind me of myself but still

You say I'm lying 

And why don't I critique you more

And then I can't win because I have also tried that

I ask you to not yell during class

And also not to tell me I'm lying at least not in front of all the other students carefully bringing their work to a glow

because it comes across as disrespectful 

And you cry

You didn't mean to be disrespectful 

And I tell you that I know that 

And that its okay

I try to hug you but you tap on my back and stiffen

You tell me you really really like me

That I have good jams

To sit next to you because you are lonely

But push away every piece of sweet words I have to say

As if they are poison and unable to make you more

I call Vicki and she tells me

Yes yes you did the correct thing and 

Then

Thank you for being you

And I wince and accept it with a tiny window of my brain and then

Realize how easy it must be

To not believe 

Even

One 

Word of kindness.