I'm really no good at love poems.
I don't know how to do that.
Perhaps because when I'm feeling love, I'm just enjoying it
and I don't feel the need to write it down.
It's when I'm feeling other things
that I feel like I retreating from the experience
and processing.
But joy-- joy I just want to live.
So this is a love poem to the 20th century, which
I miss in some ways although I realize
that nostalgia is misguided.
20th century.
I must have missed the last train out of this great city.
I'm scrolling the radio through, sshh.
The street lamps fill with light right on time
but no one is pouring it in.
20th century, you're gone.
You're tucked into a sleeping car
rolling to God knows where and I'm lonely for you.
I know it's naive but your horrors were far away.
And I thought I could stand them.
20th century, we had a good life more or less, didn't we?
You made me.
You wove the long braid down my back.
You kissed me in the snowy street with everyone watching.
You opened your mouth a little and it scared me.
20th century, it's me.
It's me.
You said that to me once as if I'd forgotten your face.
You strung me out until trees seem to breathe,
expanding and contracting.
You played American Girl and turned it up loud.
You said I was untouchable.
Do you remember the nights of Alum Creek,
the windows painting yellow Rothkos on the water?
Are they still there or did you take them with you?
Say something.
I'm here waiting, scrolling the radio.
On every frequency, someone hushes me.
Is that you?
20th century, are you there?
I thought you were a simpler time.
I thought we'd live on a mountain together
drinking melted snow, carving hawk totems from downed pines.
We'd never come back.
20th century, I was in so deep.
I couldn't see an end to you.