She Said "You're a Masochist"

Roll Up Your Sleeves

Why do I get this feeling
that life is harder without you
so close and so easily obtainable—
so easily found on street corners
were buildings are tall enough to swallow
our small hearts?

If there weren’t an ocean of grass and land
maybe life would be less heavy,
maybe I would feel less hard—
stone walls and glass barriers and
borders I put up—seemingly impenetrable.

If trees as fierce as skylines, cold
and metal and cruel,
didn’t appear in the distance;
if they were as beautiful as
small pines in the past, left behind with
all the things deemed so difficult
maybe I would be kind.
Maybe I would be gentle.

I get this feeling the world would
be softer if you weren’t
a distant thing, long sought after.
And I ask it, all around me, the cars
and concrete and cold steel,
I ask the world: “when will I be soft?”

When will I begin again, closer
to you, swallowed and whole
in the belly of the world
so distant I can’t but feel
the world would be easier
if it were close.

January 25, 2008
So Roll Up Your Sleeves