Justice

I guess it’s true that I didn’t meet you in the winter.

It was the cool of spring-summer evenings; the air tinged with a hint of resentment; the walk of a girl trying to get noticed; the honk of a stranger in the parking lot; the sight of you, in a long, black, wool coat, on the street where I pass you outside of a piano shop before circling back for our First Date: Sight Unseen

The thought of, “that’s probably him.”


That was my first impression.

“That’s probably him.”

(I don’t know what heartbreak will feel like.)

(I still don’t know if you will cause it.)

“That’s probably him.”

That face, fear on that face that looks so like peace, because fear?

Fear looks stupid on anyone, even you.

Anyway, I should begin again.

The next time I see you, I will have been away from you for half as long as the time I knew you before you left.  If I had to symbolize that figure in mathematical terms, I couldn’t.  In words, I couldn’t.  Because you?

You make me stupid with anything, even words.

These words, anyway.

They’re making an even poorer beginning.

I should begin again.

I should begin with your words. 

I should begin again.

I should begin with tight jeans, a striped shirt, high heels.  I should begin with freshly applied lipstick.  I should end with the thought, walking back from the bathroom, seeing you there, bent over the table, that your poor posture wasn’t my problem, because I would never see you again.  At the mention of a girl you loved before me, an impatient, pretty-girl sigh of relief.  That jealousy over her would never be my burden, because I would never love you.

A twinge of impatience.

A twinge of impatience.

A twinge of impatience.

I had waited for his call for a year and a half.  I had waited for his call for a year and a half, and when it finally came, I already loved you.

I should begin again.

None of this sounds like the start of a great love story. 

It shouldn’t be:  I thought you were a fool.  I thought you were a spoiled child. 

I should begin again.

Almost three months later, waking up on the couch on a summer evening to the racket of the city through open windows.  I hunt for my glasses and find them, eventually, under my body.  I haven’t heard from you in a full day, and you are my burden.

I should begin again.

Twelve hours earlier.  Falling asleep to the hum of my own heart that runs on your power, trying to craft an email to you that would express this feeling when I couldn’t possibly find the words to tell you that your bad posture is not a problem and the reason you are not my burden is that you could never be a burden, that I love you, that if I ever get the chance again, I will peel off your clothes and feel the heat of your skin and kiss you so hard you never doubt my love for you.

Twelve hours later, no reply.  Alone in the summer heat.  Clothes unpeeled.  Glasses bent.  Mouth dry, with a film on my teeth.  Your new friends in your new city.  Some of them blonde girls.  Who will she be?  Someone I suspect, or someone I never predict, who blindsides me, and you fall out of love, one day, all of a sudden...

I should begin again.

I should begin with a common expression.  I should begin with a twinge of resentment.  I should begin with ordinary fear.  I should begin with a silk scarf, a stray cat, the pattern of bark on the trees that mark my favorite hiking trail, and the bugs that live inside of it.  I should begin with the way your eyes express disapproval.  I should begin with a handful of the shells left behind by cicadas, crumbled to cicada-dust and a hint of legs, scattered on a windowsill. 

I should begin.

I should begin with a daisy, plucked by a schizophrenic, placed on the table in front of me.  I should begin with the next day, when he tries to cut out his own eye with his own finger.

I should begin with violence.

I should begin with the smokey haze of a fire extinguisher, the slits down a teenager’s arm, a girl in the doorway, wearing pain in her brown eyes, promising to cut herself to pieces.

I should begin with peace. 

I should begin with the songs sang in a non-denominational religious service that managed to only include monotheism. I should begin with a vision of roses and joined hands.

I should begin with the first time I kissed you, laying in bed beside you already, gasping to have your lips against mine, your hands pulling my body tighter against yours, to have you slip under my clothes, run those hands along me, but instead

I don’t know

I don’t know what happened

I should begin again

Block out the men who are not your burden

The women who are not your burden

Be whole

Remember you

I should

Begin again

Begin with your thick black hair, the smell of home on your neck, the curve of your belly, etched with lines.  Begin with that face that stays still mostly, until it suddenly animates and springs to life.  Begin with that hand, those thick fingers that wedge themselves into the spaces between mine, those thighs that are pale and soft, pressed against my body
I should begin with the multifunctional human breast: the divining rod, the lie detector, the seductress, the infant’s pillow.  Source of lust and comfort, I should begin with love.

I should begin with your voice, booming and carrying, but not far enough, though once it would have been, I should begin with what was lost.

I should begin with intention.  I should begin with jurisdiction.  I should begin with the divine. 

I will begin shortly.