Now that I’m stuck

By [jp/p]

Now that you're gone, I can go
where I want                  I can host
soirées —                for nothing,
no one.     No
reverent recognition    of you
vacating        this space     for highballs
and toadstools

Now that you're gone,       I can break
my fast     I can use again
— I will.    Because how much
I miss you     might ugly-equal: you
inside the underside
understanding

Now that you're gone,   I'll openly dis-
sociate      in culverts and cafés  —
walk quarter-bodied        through time,
open              old hatches & K-holes
make love to myself
learn to unlove you
or else get stuck
shuttling back
urgent napkin emails
from the demimonde

Now that you're gone,     I'll take a train into Flag-
staff, tip a fifty, crack a plastic grin. Ride the final hail
in silence     tip nothing     just my static
walk to the brim      within
an intoxicating inch      
and throw your
weightless bones                & your tiny house                 
into the Neverending Canyon,
wait           for a sound, like an empty
echo:     a clink or a crash or a chime or a                                      
tinkle          that'll never
climb the mile        up the grueling butte

Now that you're gone, I won't go back by train.
I'll stand at the edge of a wind-
carved outcrop,    sniff my fingers
for the ex-almond scent      of your burned-out     
body       lick my palms for grit        and
wish for bits of bone        under nails, in hair
wish I'd saved your urn
for the slow return

        Before you finally went,         I wish I’d’ve
clutched you    for the night,   & cursed the absurdity
of this bottomless mistake,            wept as the air
sliced at my face:

                 Now that you're gone,
I smile as I dive
headfirst      
to find you

---

[jp/p] is a black, queer, neurodiv soul living on the craggy shores of Maine; the misty-eyed, evergreen stretches of Washington; and the godforsaken flatlands of Texas, where even grey grass is possible. Their work has appeared in Lighthouse Weekly. Seven poems are forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Cephalopress Anthology.