bro·​ther

There's a permanent, almost mystical depth to brotherhood. The stories, the images, the word itself.

In a brother is a mate - the only other wand braided with the same fibers.

Just imagine the spells we cast.

-

Chris and I hum at the same frequency as we type side-by-side.

We remember the same songs as we wander narrow city streets,

he on the sidewalk, I on the street just below

Professorial in his altitude and certainty of mind

in my dependence, my reverence

'Is it always in the blood?'

I look back on our photos and wonder how I could have been discontent.

Time with him has always mended me;

it certainly does today

as we talk face to face, laughing cross-country,

reading each other's lips before any words have formed in our mouths

-

The puzzle is that even brotherhood isn't enough.

A partner, a brother, a best friend, a lover, a mirror - it took a pandemic and a season abroad to learn that even the strongest connections can only ever play a role.

That the ensemble of your life requires a wider cast, a deeper drink from many wells.

Even so,

my forehead will always be pressed against his.

Our heartstrings will always be playing in symphony;

playing, substantiating, resting.

And there is no greater peace.

pack•age

I don't see a mailing address

But it's here at my door

I heard a knock, but I see no one

No coattails disappearing around the corner

As I open it, I'm flooded.

Someone postmarked this

Because they saw the need

And it reached me because I am the need

I add it to the pile growing beside my bed.

The pile I stare at before falling asleep each night,

The pile I turn away from so I can get some rest

The pile that burns my back with its rage

"you careless hater; you privileged elitist.

You are bastardizing kindness with your apathy."

wake up and stretch,

Applying ointment and giving thanks

I do something. I do something... something, I do it - I do something.

On my way out I step over another package.

in·​ter·​view: jell-​o

Is dating harder now?

Well, I am. But I'm also softer than before.

Please don't let me slip.

What makes you feel like you're softer now?

I think I'm less resolute in my claim of knowing what I want and need. I didn't know either, and then I thought I knew both. But I'm repeatedly reminded (or convinced) that I don't. And that makes me feel like a marshmallow too near to a flame. Or like something that's being squeezed and formed and pulled and squished just like it's supposed to - taffy, for example. And it's supposed to undergo that stretchy journey, but to be honest I thought I was going to be a tree. A beautiful red and green tree that soaks up sunshine and gives and gives.

A tree is much firmer than a marshmallow, isn't it?

Something I'm asking myself today is, "Who will give or withhold permission from me?"

Permission to what?

Permission to iterate, I suppose. To keep redefining and exploring my understanding of this world and to demand attention as I delight in it. Permission to shoot my shot at a humorous and empathetic life.

Who will watch me as I blast myself in the chest with a cannon and then stare down incredulously at the perfectly round hole I've made. I stare at the way someone can see behind me, through me now. Does hollowing myself mean they can see inside of me? Or does it make me something to look through, to look past? When I finally look up from my wound -- the wound I inflicted in an attempt at honesty, at vulnerability - who will be already looking into my tearful eyes, asking me whether I want to be helped or held? When I step forward, shaking and gaping, who will give me a kiss on the cheek and say,

"It makes sense what you did just there. I don't think you needed to though; we already see you. Let's wrap you up and let that heal, sunshine," 

Who is we?

The decentralized romantic partner. A partner that takes the form of a single lover and a tribal legion. The daily curtain call, the beaming side-eye, the exhilarating us-versus-them that is really a liberating us-in-and-among-them. I suppose it takes quite some time to be seen by the right people. Waiting for your big break, guessing-and-checking where you seek to be found.

Who will give me permission, and who will withhold permission from me? Do I trust myself to decipher?

These days, my softness is harder. It's in motion and it's setting.