it's eleven at night
and my forehead
is sweaty even though
the ceiling fan is on
and it's not hot out
where the wasps have
dug a small hole in
our front yard.
john darnielle invites
me to sit across from
him with a small
fire between us while
he strums his guitar
and sings about the
time his stepdad
launched a glass at
his mom's head and
i think about how
i'm going to start
this poem.
how do you tell
someone that you
love them very much
but you just think
you need some time
alone under a big
leafless oak tree
on a brisk fall morning
rummaging through
the file cabinet in
your mind for poems
to scribble in your
spiral ring notebook
and ship off to the
faceless judges in chicago?
i have been trying
to get it in my head
that the leaves of
this oak tree one
day turning brown
and fluttering down
to the soft earth
below does not make
them any less beautiful
now while they are
dark green and sway
gently in the cool
summer breeze.
maybe you're
already there and
you won't mind that
i no longer want to
give you every
flower bouquet i make.
maybe you never
minded at all and
i built a fake version
of you out of sewing
needles and acoustic
guitar strings in my
head to justify letting
these thoughts out
of their cages like
rescued raccoons
being released back
into the forest.
i could just disappear
into the morning mist
without a word like
those wandering souls
they're fond of in the
kinds of short stories
you read in high school
english class, but i
think a host who
is so generous
with the drinks at
least deserves a wave
and a hug goodbye.
thank you for giving
me a quiet park bench
all to myself where i
could try to write myself
a flashlight to see through
all the dark ahead of me
and thank you for being
patient with me while i
stumbled around my house
looking for all the light
switches and thank you
for making me feel like
i could make a few strands
of grass emerge from
a pile of concrete rubble
with my best singing voice.
i promise i will keep you
in my heart while i
try to scale this jagged
mountain and if i ever
make it to the top i'll
send you a postcard
with a poem scrawled
on the back. i don't
know what exactly
it will say but i know
that it will end with
i love you.
i do not know if i was born a
monster
or if i was made into one
by harsh words and too many needles,
but i don't think it matters.
what's important
is that i have a
gaping
maw
where my heart should be
and everything i do
risks exposing it.
my memories of being a
monster
go back to elementary school.
when i was in fifth grade,
i played a game of freeze tag
with the other kids at recess.
the girl who was it
caught me because i couldn't run fast enough,
and i was so angry
that the jaws burst out of my chest
and
swallowed
her
whole.
my parents and teachers
believed that i would grow out of it,
and they were kind of right,
but you can never really
stop being a monster,
you can only get better at hiding it.
i kept devouring people in middle school.
my teachers and friends
were trained on how to react,
but i could always tell
what they were thinking
when i would
tear
someone
apart
for talking to me
after i failed a geometry test.
in high school,
i know everyone was talking
about how many people are
dead because of me.
i saw their glares when they thought
i wasn't looking, felt their judgement
whenever i was facing the other way.
and how could i blame
anyone but myself?
i am everything
they say i am.
today i'm in college,
and nobody knows
who i am. nobody
has seen what i'm
really like.
now, i have to be careful.
i shouldn't go out to that bowling alley
with my friends from high school
because i might lose and get upset
and let the jaws burst out of my chest
to devour someone again,
and i shouldn't talk to any
of the new people in my classes
because they might find out about
all the people i've eaten and make
me hated by the entire school,
and i should really just cut
off those old friends because
they all know what i am and
there's no point in trying to be close
with people who are aware of the
monster behind the act and besides
they're all probably just pretending
to like me anyway,
and really i shouldn't
stop at just my old friends
because anyone i
connect with is someone who can
spurn me later for being the
monster that i am
so i should probably also cut off
my mom and dad and brother
and girlfriend and internet friends,
and i especially shouldn't try to have a
good career or make any sort of
living off my writing because
all that requires the approval
of other people which i can
never keep because i have
no heart and the jaws will
rip apart everyone i know
eventually and
everything i touch is
destroyed and i
don't even know
why i'm trying
to get this
worthless degree
or interacting
with other people
or going
outside when
i'm defective and
my fate is sealed and
and
and
and
