blame it on the weather

It's a gift and a curse that I live in this reactive body of mine.
So perfectly, predictably responsive.
Stimulus input, response output
and nothing left to blame.

I've grown weary of this equal and opposite reaction routine.
I'm ready for one direction, ready to make a little headway,
instead of holding the steady hand of homeostasis.

I'll blame it on the weather.

I'll blame it on dead relatives.
Coffins solemnly wheeled out of churches into the rain
past the outside edge of your peripheral vision
through the blind spot you know is there but never see
as your aunt and cousins close their bodies in on each other-
Thanksgiving was too long ago
when he was always just down the back steps.

(And you wonder who will be next,
someone in your family will have to be next)

I'll blame it on too much time in hospitals.
Surrounded by the fetal monitoring strips,
mapping out the early and variable decelerations
of a tiny heartbeat inside a body that is only potential
that has never felt the air on a hot day
or left a carbon footprint
or sat under a tree for shade, looking up at the faces of family


I'll blame it on this eternally two-sided coin
one side the sterile, slow slipping away
of a life timed out in alarms at the nurses' station.
The other the bursting, flowering fullness
of the woman about to bear fruit,
the sweaty scream and push
that accompanies our entrance into this world
this one world we must eventually exit.

I'll blame it on the feeling that I'm stealing.
Ripping out an essential life force
as I grip this central line,
take hold of these pacer wires
and feel their resistance,
tugging at the ventricles
and pull what feels like miles of tubing
out from the insides of a 10 pound kid.

I'll blame it on 12 hour shifts
in these 24 hour days.

I'll blame it on regular sex,
leaving nothing left to yearn for.

I'll blame it on these slivers I keep getting,
reaching up from railings and floorboards
like little daggers
from a vengeful enemy,
bent on taking me by surprise.

Require

A plane trip through this pre-dawn - back in time and time zones- is all it would really require...

For long, lazy walks and movies every night and mass transit rides through tunnels and across the interstate overpass.
For hours of conversation in dimly lit bars with $2 well drink happy hours, stirring my drink until the ice melts and leaving it watered down. For a blush that extends from my chin to my cheeks, hidden behind my glass. A sly smile where I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from talking,

there are things I need to tell you.

All it would take. For a chance. For pitchers of beer next to the pool table, picking stray cat hairs off your shirt. Sitting on the front stoop.
Leaning in, laughing quietly.

I can see myself on the sidewalks, reflected in the stoplights clicking red to green, waiting for the crosswalk. It's all stop and go with me these days.

I miss you. I'm tired. There's things I need to tell you. There are places we need to find.
I tire of this mindfulness. This minding of manners, of marbles, of business, of p's and q's.
I tire of this wakefulness. Of midnight, of 1 am, of last call and bar close, of staring at the ceiling trying to sleep.
I tire of this loud music, these same familiar strangers, these dead-end cul-de-sac streets, this creeping weight gain, this elusive sunshine.
Of this ineffectual screaming. These wasted warnings.

I miss you. There are things I need to tell you.