There is something you are meant to know.
Bells ring in the distance when
I walk through your door
and see you sitting at your desk, on your
makeshift throne. There are some
things you must know. Miles do not
exist between us. When you feel an itch
I scratch my leg. When you look down
in pain, I look up in prayer.

The city found us out and they’re happy
if not cautious for us. We understand.
Walnuts fall half-shelled and I crunch
the leaves up to your door. There are things
you must know. I will walk through
all seasons to get to you.

Were you sick, I would gather cool cloths
at your bedside, bless each one, and lay them
on your forehead. Swan-necked,
I’d arch over you in your sleep; I’d check
your breathing. I’d watch your nostrils
flare in and out. Just as you sang

to me in my sleep, once, when I fitfully
tossed and turned. There are things
you are meant to know. My dreams
are your dreams. My palm rests against
your palm, our power position. Our love lines
run together, forming connected highways
and paths through swamps as well. These
are just things you need to know

if you should ever forget.

02/05/2008

Posted on 02/05/2008
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky