—YOUR WERE STONE WHITE, SO DELICATE, SO LOST IN THE DARK

 

 

JUDAS GOAT   /    Gabrielle Bates 

 

 

What does it mean to say I love you?

 

This poem must be a mess because we love each other.

 

It sounds like the heart trying to leave the chest.

 

What happens to our questions when we die?

 

I thought we could be saved at the last minute.

 

We are orphans together running the red bridge.

 

Yes, I have trouble dwelling in what’s mine.

 

“We are two roses here” is more and more of how I think.

 

We talk about how frightening this is to want.

 

You were a wonder with your bones and skin on.

 

If I describe something, anything, long enough, language will lead me back to wanting it.

 

You bristle at the obvious, but sometimes it’s helpful.

 

How can you go toward what you’re avoiding? Can’t connect, or won’t?

 

Forgive me, I am still learning how to know when a human will improve a scene.

 

Time and place are traps.

 

I look like I’m in a coffin designed for someone shorter.

 

I was raised at night.

 

Without light, every color is a past someone decided to believe in.

 

So much time passed between the kiss and the ending. I remember thinking it seemed like the applause was for our deaths.

 

This is the loneliness that turns one superstitious.

 

We spread enough distance between us to where no one would suspect we belonged to each other.

 

But instead, I will talk if I can talk about nights like this, how good it felt just to be next to him, to be the closest thing he had.

 

There is more to say, but my speaking is done with me.