Picture Window

For BA.


I dreamed of you again.

A surprise appearance on my way in and out of one tangled mess, did I miss an entire day’s worth of classes at a university? Suddenly, you are there next to me, smiling like the boy next door. We can’t reach the other side, so much water, high tide, when I spot another route, running hard until I float above the earth 16 inches, then several hundred feet.

You are by my side in an instant, flying too, a look of your own surprise and delight as we cross oceans together.

The terror of her punch list weighs us down and all of a sudden we are in her new house, all of us — the entire worship team, pastors and wives, friends and servants under this death knell, on pins and needles as she barks out orders, mulling over colors in neat swatches on one side of the wall. Another remodel, but this picture window, it’s so grand, opening up into our ocean together, beckoning to float away.

I lose you to the numbers, the hours, the facts and figures of her latest fornication with love and money, a fragile balance of power we leave in her well-manicured hands. She doesn’t love us, but I love you.

She warns of a coming storm, her storm. “I am barely holding on. I am unraveling. I will take you out. This time, you will not escape. None of you. Fuck your love.” She shows me the shrapnel nestled in the emptiness surrounding her heart, pointed and ready.

I remember climbing your body, like I used to climb trees until I reached the very top, surveying my own little world before jumping off.

Your warm, wet kisses remind me of home before I forget the classes I’ve missed, and I wake feeling that familiar emptiness, this house in a constant state of disrepair, waiting for a remodel that will never come.


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