Maybe It’s the Spring in Me

My goal was to write an abecedarian (more on this form later). An exercise turned into a poem for my wife.

And It Was Leap Year

Amethyst, we’ve

broken the eggs in the

carton and stitched a few shells together.

 

Daily, you know too well, doubt, dread, and

Eraserhead are my norms (as is

frozen pizza, which I’m not

 

going to say I’m proud of) but despite me—

Here we are. Devoted

(I think) to each other and

 

justifiably to this

kick-spew-

laugh-tickle baby.

 

May we

never carve insults into each

other’s bodies,

 

past midnight (or before). May we never

quiet our secret codes or ever answer our

riddles. May we never

 

stare too long into

the wrecks of bookshelves and bank accounts.

Uncertainty is certain, but at least we can

 

vandalize these walls together

while trying to trace the

xerography of the heart.

 

Yes, I said yes we will build a

ziggurat of mercy, a zodiac of desire.