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is OVER!

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austincantrell

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pigmenting

they say there is violence to every new beginning so let me love you gently — as if you & i hadn’t been both gravity- slammed on & catapulted off the seesaw of visibility or found our bodies buried in far-off distant hillside cities with Leviticus breathing down our backs— let me love you in olde english, or family recipes in every language that hasn’t yet ruined the season’s first snow or the meaning of Yes let me love you the way my grandpa loved whiskey: shamelessly & with abandon let me make watermarks in your hardwood, bump my glass hip to yours. there is a four poster bed in my chest with your handkerchief knotted to its banister, & i am splintering, bent, & bowed low like a tree in monsoon season, proposing with all of my 26 rings: how about Oklahoma. or Utah maybe a rocker in Southern Georgia or porch steps on the coast of Maine because you & i? we have both done it Right too many times & I want this, so Baby, get messy with me let’s do it all Wrong. leave the tired to their ruts & invent something other than the wheel with me I don’t want anything labeled, processed or pre-wrapped, don’t want Forward if it’s toward what we already know i want slow motion; let me slow dance you in the kitchen while the artichokes boil over, I wanna boil over with you. paint the kitchen the color of our water damage forget children, I wanna raise a barn with you— put hammer to nail & barrel-buckle our bodies to community I want the blister of handmade on my heart & the dirt of homegrown in our bed & if it’s true that only fools rush in then fuck — take my hand and my whole life, too because you have made me bold enough to think that even backwards is better than what we’ve tried to bend ourselves into & it’s true that i’ve got fistfights in my belly for every coward that’s handcuffed their hurt to loving you & i know you’ve never charged extra for baggage but this body is a suitcase & i don’t intend on letting you carry it, no. walk beside me. let your brack & tweed stand alongside the midwestern yearn of my urban swoon, show me your swagger just by pop & locking your garter belt i want to write your name in the dust of a train car’s exhale somewhere south of the Mason Dixon, kick wasp nests deep into the hills of Julian where you found that bomb & still made it back to show me how to ball yarn & crowbar myself open wide enough for the helium of your hearthatch to hot air balloon us into the chariot of every afternoon’s swung low so let’s go — lungshock headroll off the dock & into crisp lake water of the next sixty new beginnings all hands & no hesitation.

Meg Day, excerpt from “Say Yes” (via pigmenting)