a literal metaphor

It seems like I moved through the world always puzzled,
forever the girl who would pull loose ends of strings
just to see what would happen, sometimes unraveling what was enmeshed,
always seeking sources but rarely finding myself pleased
with what I discovered. It's my curse, perhaps,
or maybe my blessing, this ability to trace but not

a commensurate ability to leave those threads in the knot
holding them in place, to find a shape but never fit the puzzle
pieces together. My blessing, or curse, perhaps,
to myself be a single piece of string
unfrayed by association from those who'd fret or please
me, to hold myself apart from what might ensnare

me past my point to divine myself. What matter, my yearning to entwine,
to create something lovely with another thread by knotting
ourselves into complex beauty? I thought it past my ability to please
anyone well enough, to find someone who matches the edges of my worn puzzle
piece and interlock to form an image, to find a hue of string
which harmonizes well with my own mild blue-- to be matched, perhaps

in complement, or alternately in contrast, perhaps.
So long I've sought one I could embrace,
someone to join me in stitching us close with strings
of conversation, someone who might love me when I think I'm not
worthy of love, the one who'd strive to solve the puzzle
I present, that person who might seek to please

me, and in that pleasure find themself well pleased.
I wasn't sure that I deserved them, had earned them, perhaps
felt that the loss of one proved me forever an unmatched piece of a puzzle,
a letter never sent and doomed to remain unenveloped.
How thrilling, then, to have these fears dispelled, to not
remain in the grip of these tangled dreads, to slice the anxiety-frayed string

with your sharp wit and let you reel me close with love's stronger string.
How long I've waited for the touch that would not panic but please,
for limber arms and legs to catch me in a knot
of adoration and proximity, to find, perhaps,
the perfect one with whom to entangle
both our hearts into one perfectly aligned puzzle.

Bind us together with delicate strings which we may perhaps
find durable enough to please our hearts entwined:
no longer uncomplemented, not to stay an unsolved puzzle.

Call me pathetic,
maybe it's true--
This unswerving loyalty I hold for you
like a dog waiting for her long-gone master,
instincts drawn to the sound of your voice--
Call me and I'll come.
Call me from anywhere, I'll come.
Only call me, please, call my name
and I'll find you, if I know you want me,
if I'm not kicked to the curb
to roam the night like an unloved stray.
I was wanted, once--
You wanted me, once, kept me close,
said my name fondly, like it was precious to you.
I'm good enough to keep, aren't I?
Someone would take me in
but I'd just steal out and wander the streets
howling for the one I love--
the one who loved me once--
neither leashed nor collared but cherished all the same.
Let me be yours again, I swear I'll be good,
won't bite or growl, won't beg for petting,
just let me curl up at your feet,
let me guard your heart,
give me a place beside you to rest my head.
Put your name on my tag
so everyone can see where I belong,
so they know I'm always heading home.
There's no place I want to be but home--
at your side, at peace: home.

They say you can't love anyone if you don't love yourself.
I stared long and hard into the mirror's surface
and eventually I started to accept the flaws I never
thought of as lovable before I had learned to stand
on my own two feet, even if I could only stand for an hour.
I found myself in a field lit only by stars,

found the single one I would call my star,
found my star every time I couldn't love myself,
coming back night after night to the field that was ours.
I walked by the water and saw myself below the surface,
walked on the ice to make a stand
against this frozen side of me that could never

thaw enough to feel the warmth of flame, never
find the spot of sky that holds my star,
never reach out far enough to take his hand.
If I wanted him, first I had to love myself,
so I pulled my frozen side through the surface
of the ice, held her in my arms for hours,

told her my history, hers, ours,
and slowly melted the ice that had bound her forever.
It felt like holding my breath under the surface
of the shining sea of light, witnessed by my star,
becoming one with this newly loved part of myself,
feeling the chill as my hand touched her hand

and overlapped, as we united, and
it took a year, or maybe an hour,
but at the end I loved my entire self
with a frantic single-mindedness I never
should have turned upon another, but like my star,
he'd been my constant reminder of why I had to look beyond the surface

of my teary eyes, delve beneath the surface
of my shallow thoughts. He was why I loved myself,
and how should I not have loved my lucky star?
I brought him to the dark field I considered ours
and showed him where I'd looked for comfort, ever
finding his brightness to turn me back to myself.

He never had trouble seeing past my surface,
but never saw me as a shining star,
and never told me how he saw himself, for all we talked for hours.

You knew that you were what I needed,
so when I turned around, you were a ghost.
Any good mistake is worth repeating; every
time I said "I love you," expressed my wants,
did you think my words were just blowing smoke?
You knew my desires and thwarted them. Have

I ever learned my lesson? It seems I have
hit upon the way to never get just what I need--
simply ask you for it. Sitting on the porch exhaling smoke
and dreams, my breath shaped a ghost
out of your name. Come here, I want
to tell you a secret: you were never

just a man to me, not once in memory were you ever
simply physical, and you may never be. You have
a gravity to you, words and glance and gesture. I want
your focus, I wanted for a while to be what you needed
like you were for me. When I'm a ghost
I will haunt your grave with longing and the scent of smoke.

I don't know how to cope besides to smoke.
The stress has been getting to me. Did you ever
think of how I felt, or was I just a ghost
occasionally troubling your thoughts? I have
to know, even if it hurts. I think I need
to trouble you if I can't be what you want.

I wish you would have told me what you want.
No sweet, no liquor, no intoxicating smoke,
and I guess not me, either. Did you ever need
to hold me reverently in your mind or did you never
think to ask yourself what I could be for you? I have
to admit I'd still give you anything-- my breath, my ghost,

my body or my love. I'm haunted by the ghost
of who I could have been for you, if I'd been what you want
even for an hour. Tell me now, what have
you wished for in secret? Did the smoke
of the torch I carry for you never
once bring tears to your eyes? What do you need?

I choke my love with smoke and let the ghost
rise and soar away. You need to know I never
wavered in my devotion: you are what I want, what I need.

This isn't good for either of us
but you're not the one being consumed.
You flare bright, shower sparks
and at your slightest touch I burn
and burn, and burn, and can't stop burning
and won't stop until there's nothing left of me
but smoke hanging heavy in the sky
and the burnt-out remains of what held me together.
This isn't good for either of us
but it's too late.
I know your touch.
The fire's already raging through me.
Maybe you'll recover, collect yourself,
maybe you'll delight different eyes,
but there is no after-you for me.
There's only this fire, until I'm burned up,
until you leave me ruined behind you.

I fall asleep next to you,
sated and weary,
and dream of you reading to me
in a low voice resounding like the sea.

When I wake, facedown, dawn tipping the sky,
you are already awake, your right hand holding mine
and your left moving across my back,
a cool and ticklish point to your pen.

"What are you writing?" I ask you,
still half-asleep and muzzy,
and you smile and keep writing on my skin.
"My secrets," you say, "keep them safe."

I can't predict the future--
not really, for all my playing
with tarot cards and prescient dreams--
and it's silly to think that anyone
can tell what the years may hold
before they come to pass.
That being said, I had my palm read last summer,
and she told me that the person I'm meant to love
was the one I was holding at arm's length.
But I was doing that with both of you--
one in fear of the post-grad breakup I saw as inevitable,
one in fear of rejection that also seemed inevitable.
So I took her advice to heart
and pulled you both closer
hoping against hope that my heart would sort it out.
It's silly to put faith in fortune-telling,
but I've done sillier things for much less reward
and risking it all for heart's desire isn't so silly, is it?

I've never been a jealous person,
not when it comes to relationships, anyways.
I like love to be shared, not hoarded,
but I never had that put to the test.
Maybe it'd be different if it had been anyone else,
but I don't know-- I wanted the right ones.
When I got to see my two favorite people
share their first kiss, I wanted to cheer,
knowing that love had just been multiplied--
not to mention it was the sweetest thing to witness.
I love to watch my lovers loving each other,
feeling joy rise within me that we're together,
that I get to share in this glorious mess,
that we'll make this work for the three of us.

I can't get the thought of you out of my head,
the thought of you and I together.

Can't forget the way my breath speeds up
to match each of you in turn
in the moments before sleep.

Can't ignore how my hands ache
to hold yours
anytime they're empty.

Can't stop thinking about the warmth
in the safe place
between you.

Can't stop daydreaming our reunion,
the relief that will flood me
back in a three-sided hug.

I know I have to be patient,
and I'm trying my best,
but these thoughts get the better of me
when I'm missing you already.

The summer's not going to be so long--
I keep telling myself, anyways.

Sirens!

SO many sirens---

a veritable symphony of sirens in alternating tones!

Two fire trucks-- and a third--

an ambulance lagging behind, slow and heavy

and policecarspolicecarspolicecars speeding by in a flock

and finally one single pizza delivery car going silently by
crossing a taxi silently and going on its way.