Two Poems

Is it okay to live together before marriage

When I first met you, you looked busy. You were. You had several things on your mind. You were trying to finish a French paper and you were trying to eat three tranquilizers. You had broken up with your boyfriend on New Year’s, or actually, you were still together, but things had gotten to a point where you spent most nights alone, absent-minded and mean. Like I said at an earlier date, if you aren’t careful—if you keep eating those tranquilizers—something terrible and strong beyond your understanding will run away with your face. I’m not sure what happened to you in that time you were away. And to be honest, this is out of my hands. I only want to slink into your bed at night and put pennies over your eyes and say something holy and old and folded into a small triangle with both our names on the outside. I was always told, don’t be afraid of firefighters. Besides their outfits they are just trying to help. Same as the way I feel about you. But I’ve found the list of things you want to do together (“February 18th: Hang our photos at the site of the future accident. February 20th: I’m driving”). I don’t believe you’ve got any good intentions, and to go further with that, I don’t believe you’ve ever had a friend. And yet. I’m by the old cabin for the sugaring off. I’m by the old lakehouse convincing the geese. Sometimes a sea gull wasting its time. Sometimes a coyote dragging a housecat. Unlucky for some. And yet, I’ve been ready to turn snow-colored and forget myself. LAKEHOUSE WHORE I HAVE LOCKED MYSELF UP IN A WOODSHED YOU ARE BLONDISH AND FAIR IN THE CRINKLE WINDOW I SEE YOU WHEN I LIGHT THIS CANDLE STUB DAYS IN TO MAY, ONLY DAYS NOW BUT I REMEMBER YOU WHEN YOU WERE A CHEMISTRY TEACHER WITH A LITTLE BOX OF EXPLOSIVES