the first time I saw we held nothing to nature, the first shock
to our soft sides, supple and tender in the night
when overwhelmed trees burst through cement
and arrested the sunlight-
I saw a bonsai with
fury in his living
dying in its own wake.
I fell in love this way- with no will behind consumption,
with roots tangled beyond manage
sinking in a downward spiraling
searching for life.
green became my favorite color
from the pads of your thumbs
patting the soil into our home and praying
for an extra boost of magic.
I fell in love with this valor, brilliant in accord
unlike me, knowing fully well when it was time to let go.
I fell out of love this way,
riding the wind to the ground
with all the exhilaration of Fall, and falls
under the watchful eye of the moon,
like a tsunami who knows nothing more than rolling in
loving you just as badly,
loving myself even worse.
You can tell me “not all men.”
every woman knows that.
But when the weight of a single man
crushes her into the mattress
and extinguishes the light from her eyes,
there is no statistic
or clever saying
that can stop her from feeling the burn of his touch
in every man’s gaze.
So maybe, to you, it’s one man.
But for her, it is all.