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HALF-LIFE
1.
Evidence of love?
I imagine our two heads
sliced open like grapefruits,
pressed each half to half
& mingling acid juice
in search of sweet.
Shawn sleeps in Corey’s bed for three weeks after Topanga leaves. After the
lights go out in the rest of the house—the kitchen, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews’
room, Morgan’s room—he sneaks up the tree and through Corey’s window, and then
into Corey’s bed. Neither of them say a word, but Corey balls the covers in his
hands and waits for Shawn to spoon against his back. They breathe together,
Shawn’s fingers moving slowly from his own sides to Corey’s,
hands on Corey’s waist, then arms wrapping around the other boy’s chest.
The first night was just instinct, or lack of a better idea, really. Shawn
watched Corey’s face crumple slowly, like a paper bag in water, and all he
could think to do was say, “Lets just lay down, Corey, okay? Lets just go to
sleep.” Corey nodded slowly and lay down, arms wrapped tightly around himself
until Shawn turned off the light, and replaced Corey’s arms with his own. He
fell asleep that night with Corey’s heart beating strong and wounded against
his palm.
The mornings are increasingly normal. Corey and Shawn wake up, disengage, pull
their limbs back to their own bodies. In the adjoining bathroom, Corey pisses
while Shawn brushes his teeth, and then they switch. They dress turned away
from each other, as if they haven’t just spent all night pressed together,
chest to back. Then they go down to breakfast, and Mr. and Mrs. Matthews
pretend that it’s perfectly normal for Shawn to lope down their stairs, rubbing
sleep out of his eyes.
After three weeks, Corey starts smiling again, and Mr. Matthews’ questioning
glances have been getting longer and longer, so Shawn stays home, tossing and
turning in his own bed. He wakes up at three a.m. to feel Corey slipping under
his covers, pressing against Shawn’s back. “Shh, its just me, go back to
sleep,” Corey whispers, and Shawn does. Before he falls asleep, he thinks how
odd it is that he couldn’t sleep without hearing the beat of Corey’s heart.
The next night, they’re back in Corey’s bed, and the morning after Mr. Matthews
stares at Shawn over his coffee, eyes asking questions that Shawn doesn’t want
to answer yet.
2.
If it was lust or hunger
& not love
if it was all that they accused us of
(that we accused ourselves)—
I do not think it matters.
They somehow manage to avoid other people for most of the summer. Sometimes
Eric will catch them in the morning and bug them into seeing a movie with him
and Jack, but that stops after the first couple of times. Corey always sits
silently in the car, staring out the open window, and Shawn acts extra-fucking
cheery and smiles really big, answering all the questions directed towards
Corey. Every time his hand drifts to Corey’s knee, Jack and Eric’s eyes meet in
the rearview mirror.
Sometimes Eric or Jack will corner him and ask what’s going on with him and
Corey. Shawn always says that Corey’s going through a lot right now, and he
just needs to figure himself out again. He always ignores the other questions
in their eyes, the questions they don’t ask. The ones about him using Topanga’s
absence to have Corey’s full attention, the way he’s always wanted.
He ignores them because he thinks they’re wrong, or maybe because he knows
they’re right.
Once they’re finally left alone, Corey and Shawn search for things to do,
things that will keep Corey’s mind off of Topanga. Of course, nothing will, so
they just visit all their old haunts—the park, the zoo where they first met,
even the high school. They sit in the parking lot and Shawn smokes filterless
cigarettes poached from his Dad’s stash. Corey scowls at him and throws rocks
at the trees until Shawn smashes the butt under his heel.
Sometimes they talk, but every conversation seems to revolve around Topanga, so
mostly they just sit, shoulder to shoulder. Shawn tells dirty jokes and Corey
laughs, twisting the small gold engagement ring on his left hand.
3.
I am a print of darkness
on a square of film.
I am a garbled dream
told by a breakfast-table liar.
I am a wound which has forgotten how to heal.
Angela breaks up with him a month after he starts sleeping with Corey. Or, at
Corey’s, anyway. Shawn suspects that it would have been sooner, if Angela had
been able to find him sooner. But he hasn’t been home much lately, only
stopping by to pick up as many clothes as he can stuff in a small backpack.
Angela takes the hint and comes to find him at Corey’s house.
He’s sitting on the porch, smoking, when he sees Angela walking up the
sidewalk. He looks up, squinting at the sun in his eyes. “Hey, Angela.” He
smiles. “I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too,” she says, but she doesn’t smile. She gestures
towards the cigarette in his hand. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Shawn feels suddenly sheepish, caught. He drops it to the ground and grinds it
out beneath his heel, waving the smoke away. “I don’t, really. Here, sit,” he
says, moving over on the stoop. “Plenty of room.”
“Thanks,” Angela says, and sits next to him, smoothing out the wrinkles in her
dress. It comes to him in a sudden rush of tenderness, how much he loves her,
her small, graceful gestures. Their knees are touching, and he can feel the
heat of her skin through his jeans and her thin cotton skirt. “Shawn, we have
to talk.”
He freezes in the motion of putting his hand on her knee. “Oh,” he says. “Well.
That’s never good.”
She smiles now, gently. “No,” she says. “It isn’t.”
“Look, Angela, I know I haven’t been around much lately, but—”
“Corey needs you. I know.”
Shawn gestures helplessly towards the house. Inside, he knows, Corey is curled
up on the couch eating Fruity Pebbles, sweetly kid-like. In his memory are a
thousand Sunday afternoons of the two of them watching cartoons on that couch,
sharing a single cereal bowl. “It won’t be forever.”
Angela puts her hand on his knee. “I don’t know about that, Shawn. I’ve been
thinking about it, and I think…I think you and Corey are forever, in a way that
you and I aren’t.”
“Angela—”
“Shawn,” she says, in that voice which means, ‘I know you better than you know
yourself.’ He stills, staring down at the gray, ash-smeared pavement. He knows.
Its over. “I’m just…not where your heart is anymore.”
Shawn sighs. “No,” he admits. “No, you’re not.”
“And I think Corey’s been where your heart is for longer than you know.”
He looks up at her, feeling ridiculously vulnerable. “Angela, what are you
trying to say?”
That breaks the moment. She stands up, brushing the dirt off her skirt. “I’m
not saying anything, Shawn. Just…I think you should think about what you really
want.”
They say more to each other, but it’s all pretty meaningless after that. They
kiss one last time, just a single light brush of the lips, and then Angela
walks away across the lawn.
4.
My business is always to feel
a little like a fool
& speak of it.
He doesn’t tell Corey until a week later, and even then it’s not on purpose. It
just sort of slips out in conversation, and immediately afterwards Shawn has an
‘oh-shit-what-did-I-just-say?’ moment.
Characteristically, Corey is hurt, and pissed. “You broke up?” he says. “How
could you not tell me?”
“Its no big deal,” Shawn says, exasperated. “It just…happened. We were growing
apart.”
“Growing apart? Shawn, you just barely grew together. How could…” It dawns on
him. Corey’s face darkens, and he looks at Shawn. “Its my fault, isn’t it?
Because you’re always over here, with me.”
Shawn rolls his eyes. “That’s not it, Cor.”
“No, it is.” Corey sits down, hits himself on the forehead. “God, I’m such an
asshole. You have your own life. Or, at least, you should.”
“You are my life,” Shawn says, annoyed. He doesn’t realize until the words
leave his lips how odd it sounds, and how true.
“But Shawn, that’s not fair. Not to you, not to Angela. You’re supposed to be
your own life.”
“Corey, you’re not listening.” Shawn feels overwhelmed with affection and
annoyance at Corey, who is always so concerned about other people’s lives. “I
think the problem is,” he says slowly, “that I always want to be here. With
you.”
Corey looks at him, eyes troubled. When he sees the truth in Shawn’s eyes, he
tries unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Shawn says.
“That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, Shawnie,” Corey says, but he doesn’t
look angry anymore. He sits down on the couch, and Shawn puts his arm around
Corey’s shoulders.
“Maybe not. But can you honestly say it’s not the same for you?”
Corey doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t really need to. He just leans into
Shawn’s shoulder, until his hair brushes Shawn’s temple.
5.
My other half!
My life beyond this half-life!
When school starts, they get a room together. There’s a moment, when they’re
filling out the paperwork, where Corey says quietly, “Well, Topanga and I
wouldn’t have been able to share anyway,” and Shawn has to catch his breath and
look away. Beyond that, they don’t mention her, and it’s just like every other
school year, joking and laughing and shoving each other as they move boxes of
shared possessions.
Shawn likes the look of his things and Corey’s things on the same shelves,
overlapping each other. Their lives have always overlapped, but this is the
first time that it extends to their outside lives, to their homes. He’s stayed
at Corey’s place before and Corey at his, but this is the first place that’s
really theirs.
They still sleep in the same bed. On their first night in their new room, Corey
looks skeptically at the small single beds. “Maybe we should push them
together,” he says.
“No,” Shawn finds himself saying, before he can even think. “It might…look
weird. You know, to other people.”
Neither of them say, ‘Then maybe we should stop sleeping together.’ And what
Shawn doesn’t say is that he likes having Corey so close to him every night, so
close that it feels as though they’re sharing vital organs; lungs, brain, and
heart.
6.
At times I hardly believe in you.
Except this ache,
this longing in my gut,
this emptiness which theorizes you
because if there is an emptiness this deep,
there must be fullness somewhere.
Once school starts, Corey starts hanging out with people again. At first its
just Eric, Jack, Shawn and Rachel at the Student Union, but its a start, at
least. Shawn knows that things are really starting to be okay when he sees
Corey talking and laughing with someone Shawn doesn’t recognize, outside of one
of his classes. Topanga is still notably Not There, still the big gaping hole
in their lives that nobody really talks about, but now its like Corey’s just
missing a limb, instead of his heart.
At first Shawn misses it, misses being the only person in Corey’s world. He
misses the absolute focus Corey used to give him, all day, every day. But he
likes seeing Corey being Corey again, laughing and smiling and joking with his
brother, freaking out about stupid things like someone eating the last piece of
banana bread.
Besides, Shawn knows that he is still the only person Corey has known longer
than Topanga, the only person he can remember without memories of Topanga all
tangled around in his mind. He’s the only person Corey can smile at with no
shadows in his eyes.
7.
Do you exist?
Evidence:
these poems in which
I have been conjuring you,
this book which makes your absence palpable,
these longings printed black.
I am exposed.
Shawn takes creative writing that semester. He’s been writing poetry since
seventh grade, but he never showed it to anybody, except Mr. Turner. Turner was
the only person in Shawn’s life who ever told him that he was good at
something, that he was gifted, and Shawn wants to honor that. He wants to get
better. He wants to write poems that actually mean something, poems that would
make Turner proud.
He tries to write about Big Relevant Social Issues like some of the kids in his
class, but from him it comes off flat, false. Shawn’s life has always been
small: his mom, his dad, Turner, Jack, Corey. So instead he writes about
growing up in an empty trailer, and the night Turner’s bike turned over on the
freeway, and the way it felt the first time he met his brother, this whole
other person with a different past but the same genes.
Like every teenager, he writes a lot of poems about love. He misses having a
girlfriend, having someone there to kiss whenever he wants, to touch, and yeah,
a lot of it is hormones, but he misses the other stuff, too. His poems are
about that one perfect person, the one who knows everything about him, the good
and the bad, and loves him anyway, the one he can sit with without saying and
word and they still know exactly what the other is thinking. The One. This
person exists only in his head, but he misses them, loves them anyway.
He shows Corey some of his poems one day. He’s not really expecting any sort of
response, because he doesn’t think Corey’s ever read poetry before, except in
school, so he thinks Corey’ll probably just nod and say, “These are great,
Shawn,” and never think about them again.
Instead, when he’s done reading, Corey looks up at Shawn, and his eyes are sort
of…soft, is the only word Shawn can think of. “How long have you been writing?”
he asks.
“Um…those poems are probably a few weeks old. But I’ve been writing
since…junior high? I think.” He looks down at his shoes, digs his toe into the
rug.
“These are really beautiful, Shawn. They’re just…” He shakes his head, looking
down at the notebook in his lap.” I don’t even have the words.”
Shawn still thinks Corey’s just doing the good-best-friend thing, but the next
day he walks into their dorm room and finds Corey reading one of Shawn’s Pablo
Neruda books, and he thinks maybe he really does
have a gift.
8.
Is love a wound
which deepens as it dreams?
One day after class, he comes back to their room to find Corey sitting on his
bed, on the dark blue quilt his mother made him. There are half a dozen sheets
of lined paper next to him, covered in Topanga’s careful scrawl, and a gold
ring glints in his hand.
“His name is Chad,” Corey says hoarsely.
Shawn doesn’t say anything. He just puts his arms around his best friend and
holds on tightly.
9.
Is love a wound
which dreams of being healed?
Before, they could all say Topanga’s name with relative ease. They talked about
her because if they didn’t, she was really gone, really not a part of their lives
anymore. Corey would tell them about the latest phone call or letter, and they
would all discuss how they were looking forward to Christmas or Thanksgiving or
whenever it looked like she might be coming home.
Now, they don’t talk about her at all, not since Eric came up to Shawn and
Corey’s room to ask them to play foosball and Shawn had to tell him to come
back later, because Corey was crying right now. Later, Shawn went to Jack and
Eric’s place and told them, in a low, quiet voice, that Topanga was dating someone else and no one should mention
it. Of course, that backfired marvelously when everyone spent two tense hours
Not Mentioning Her, and then Corey rolled his eyes and said, “Topanga, okay?
Topanga. I’m not gonna stick forks in my eyes if you guys say her name.”
And they all laughed, and it was okay after that, but they still don’t say her
name.
Besides, Shawn is the one who lays there in bed with Corey and feels him
shaking, like there’s so much pain in him that he’s just going to erupt like a
volcano. Shawn is the one who sees him cry, who watches him swear and kick
things around the room, who hears him say quietly, “There’s just no point. She
was my life, Shawn, my whole life.”
Shawn is the one who has to fight back the hard lump in his throat to say,
“You’re supposed to be your own life, remember?” and then just hold him when
Corey doesn’t get the reference.
10.
Evidence of life:
that we could meet for the first time,
open our scars & stitches to each other,
weave our legs around
each other’s patchwork dreams
& try to salve each other’s wounds
with love—
Since Topanga’s letter, Corey seems different. Sometimes its like he’s lost the
one thing he was holding on to. Sometimes its like he’s finally let go, and now
he can live his life without Topanga always in the back of his head. Either
way, he’s different somehow.
He even looks different. He’s been growing his hair out, and its longer than
its been since middle school, long enough to tickle Shawn’s face at night. He’s
also been wearing Shawn’s clothes a lot, since neither Shawn nor Corey are
particularly religious about doing laundry. He looks good in them, not like
back in high school where they looked like a costume, and Shawn likes pulling
on one of his shirts and smelling Corey.
Sometimes Shawn will walk into the library or a classroom or the Student Union
and he won’t recognize Corey. He’ll see him—curly hair, big brown eyes, faded
John Adams High gym shirt—and think, I want to know him, and his heart will be
in his throat, but he won’t realize its Corey until he looks up and smiles,
motioning Shawn over.
Sometimes Shawn wishes that he could meet Corey all over again, right now,
without the baggage of almost fifteen years of friendship and the whole Topanga
thing behind them. That they could just start fresh. He wonders if they could
even be friends if they met now for the first time, or if they would be
something less, or more, to each other.
11.
I imagine your two hands
making whirlpools
in my blood,
then quelling them.
Shawn meets a girl in his creative writing class. It’s one of the only classes
he and Corey don’t have together, and he finds himself oddly lonely there,
doodling in his notebook and planning where he will go later, with Corey.
The girl’s name is Marissa, and at first sight she looks pretty and
uncomplicated, just his type. But when she smiles, its slightly crooked, and he
knows from one of her stories that its because she wore braces as a kid, and
she’s self-conscious about her teeth. He likes her because her poems make his
breathing speed up, as though she’s speaking directly to his blood.
He doesn’t know why he lies to Corey. “Going to the library,” he says, putting
on his jacket. “Later.”’
Corey looks up from his book and smiles. “Later,” he says, and for some reason
Shawn’s heart hurts. But he just smiles and walks out the door.
All night, Shawn tries his best to be his usual, charming self. The self he was
in high school. The movie sucks but Marissa’s hand in his is warm and firm, and
after he takes her to a café with open mike poetry. Usually he would take a
girl into a dark corner, listen closely to the poet and whisper, “That’s how I
feel about you,” at exactly the right moment. He and Marissa sit outside, though.
They talk about their classes, their families, their friends. At the end of the
night Shawn walks her to her dorm room and kisses her chastely on the cheek.
She smiles at him, and goes inside. He knows he’s not going to see her again.
By the time he gets back to his own room, Corey is already asleep. When Shawn
strips down to t-shirt and boxers and slips into bed beside him, he wakes up,
relaxing into the weight of the other boy’s body. “Shawn?” he asks vaguely.
“Yeah,” he says. “Its me, Cor. Go back to sleep.”
“I looked for you at the library, but I couldn’t find you.” Corey speaks into
his pillow, already halfway dreaming again.
“I got bored. Walked around campus for a while. Go to sleep, Cor,” he says
gently, and presses a chaste kiss on the nape of Corey’s neck. He falls asleep
with his nose buried in Corey’s fuzzy curls.
The next day in class, Shawn bumps into Marissa on the way to his desk. She
smiles at him briefly, then goes to sit on the other side of the room. He finds
himself relieved, and goes back to deciding whether he and Corey will go to the
movies or just stay in bed, reading with their knees brushing beneath the
covers.
12.
Evidence of life:
snapshots,
hundreds of split-seconds
when the eyes glazed over,
the hair stopped its growing,
the nails froze in fingertips,
the blood hung suspended
in its vessels—
One by one, the pictures of Topanga come down. The one on the dresser, the one
on the wall. The one in Corey’s wallet, Topanga’s hair golden in the sunlight
and her smile as big as the world. Corey puts them all into a photo album,
carefully labeled ‘High School Memories,’ then shoves it under his bed.
That makes Shawn feel better than if Corey had burnt them all in a jealous
rage. He’s actually okay. He might even stay that way, and one day, he might
actually be over her. He wont forget her, because nobody forgets their first
love. He’ll just…let her stay where she is, instead of constantly carrying her
around in his back pocket. He’ll let himself fall in love with someone else.
Only one picture of Topanga stays out. It was taken at some party, back in high
school—junior year, maybe, probably the first day of school. In the picture,
Corey has one arm around Shawn and the other around Topanga, and his face is
turned towards Shawn’s, laughing. Shawn can’t remember exactly when the picture
was taken, or what was happening, but he thinks he can remember that one
moment, looking into his best friend’s eyes and just being so, so happy that he
had to laugh, too.
13.
Why does life need evidence
of life?
We disbelieve it
even as we live it.
They’re watching TV at Eric and Jack’s place. As usual, both of their brothers
are squabbling over the remote, and Corey and Shawn, sitting on either side of
the couch with Eric and Jack between them, have to dodge flying elbows.
“We are not watching the Golden Girls,” Jack says firmly.
“Why not?” Eric asks. “Its prime television material! The compelling
characters, the ingenious plot lines, Blanche’s cute little pantsuits…”
“Jack, just let Eric watch his show,” Rachel calls from the kitchen.
“But—”
“Look, you can watch your weird archaeology show next time. Now its Eric’s
turn,” she says comfortingly. She’s used to treating Jack and Eric like two
bickering kindergarteners.
“Pantsuits!” Eric shouts.
“Fine,” Jack says. He hands the remote to Eric, pouting when the other boy
cackles in delight. “This show is so gay.”
There’s a moment of tense silence, and then Rachel hisses, “Jack!”
“Oh!” Eric’s eyes flit from Corey to Shawn, then back again. “Um, sorry, guys.”
Shawn suddenly realizes that its not just Jack: everybody is looking at him and
Corey. They lock eyes over Jack and Eric’s heads.
Neither of them say anything for far too long. Finally, Corey breaks the
silence. “Uh…that’s okay.”
Everyone audibly breathes out. Rachel goes back to making herself a sandwich,
Jack and Eric resume their squabbling, and Corey and Shawn look at each other.
“What was that?” Corey mouths.
Shawn shrugs, awkward, and then looks at the TV.
14.
(I am not sure at all
if love is salve
or just
a deeper kind of wound.
I do not think it matters.)
Lately Shawn’s been having trouble sleeping. He quit smoking at the beginning
to the term because Corey hated the smell of it on Shawn’s clothes and breath.
Now he’s started again, buying packs of Camels from the liquor store down the
street and smoking them outside the dorms, one after another until there’s a
pile of butts by his feet. He changes his clothes before he gets back into bed,
but Corey still wrinkles his nose in his sleep, and when he wakes up, sniffs
Shawn discreetly and then looks away without a word.
He’s not sure exactly where the insomnia is coming from, but he thinks it has
something to do with Corey. Before he started sharing a bed with Corey, he
could sleep anywhere—the back of a car, a lumpy couch, a floor covered with
dirty laundry. Then he got used to sleeping curled up around Corey, sharing
heartbeats and breath. Now he can’t sleep, and he doesn’t know why.
Smoking gives him something to do with his mouth and his hands, and he wonders
exactly why he feels like he needs to keep them busy.
15.
I imagine all your dreams
pressed against my belly
like your sperm
& singing into me.
I imagine my two hands
cupped around your life
& stroking it.
The inevitable happens, of course: a nighttime erection. Its happened
before—they are teenaged guys, after all—but usually they’re chest to back, and
Shawn manages to move away from Corey before anything…climactic happens.
Sometimes Shawn will wake up to hear Corey’s harsh breathing, and feel the
movement of Corey’s arm as it makes the blankets ripple. He always holds
himself perfectly still until Corey shudders, then wipes himself clean with
tissues from the side of the bed. Those nights, Shawn can’t fall asleep for hours.
This time, its different. This time, Corey turns during the night so that he
and Shawn are lying face to face, legs entwined beneath the dark blue quilt.
Shawn’s thigh is draped over Corey’s; they are pressed chest to chest and hip
to hip. Shawn’s hips are slowly grinding against Corey’s of their own accord,
and, he notices after a moment of blind horror at his stupid goddam body, Corey
is grinding back.
When he finally manages to open his eyes, he finds that Corey’s are already
open, wide open.
Shawn draws in a breath, deep and surprised and god, so hard, but Corey
whispers, “Shh. Don’t talk.”
Shawn freezes. He has this awful black feeling in the pit of his stomach, as
though it has dropped out of his body, still bleeding. He pulls away.
Corey’s eyes widen, and he pulls Shawn back. “No! No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Corey, because you know…” Shawn’s voice is hoarse.
God. “You know—”
“I know,” Corey says gently. He’s smiling, as though he’s suddenly discovered
something really beautiful that he never knew existed before, like he’s found a
unicorn living under his bed. “This could change everything. I know that. But
what I meant was, don’t talk because I don’t want to ruin this moment. I mean,
I really like this moment. I don’t want it to change.”
“Oh,” Shawn breathes. He’s suddenly very, very aware of his dick, hard against
Corey’s thigh. And of Corey’s dick, hard against his. “Oh,” he says again, this
time lower, from the back of his throat.
“Oh,” Corey says in response, as Shawn starts rubbing against him. His eyes
slip closed, and those thick black lashes against cheeks reddened with blood
are the most beautiful sight Shawn has ever seen.
They come that way. Softly, hands clutching each other’s biceps, Corey’s eyes
closed and Shawn’s wide open, devouring everything.
16.
Evidence?
Or was it just my dream
waltzing with your dream?
Afterwards, they separate reluctantly. Shawn pulls off his shirt and wipes
Corey clean, as softly and reverently as he can, and then himself. Their
pajamas and shorts are basically ruined for future wear at this point, though,
so they change into new boxers and jeans, getting ready for the day. They dress
turned away from each other, sneaking glances at each other through lowered
eyelashes. When their eyes finally meet, Shawn grins, and Corey blushes.
“You know, that was the first time I ever…”
“You mean, you and Topanga never…” Shawn bites his lip, feeling stupid, but
after a momentary spark of pain in his eyes, Corey just shakes his head.
“No. We were waiting. You know, till after the wedding.” He shrugs. “Its
probably best that we didn’t. It would have made breaking up just that much
worse.”
“Or maybe she wouldn’t have left.”
Corey laughs, this bitter little laugh. “And what? Stayed here resenting me for
keeping her from her opportunities. No. Its better that she left.” And there’s
another one of those looks. Shy, and happy, and mature, like maybe Corey’s
finally decided what it is he wants. “Its…better this way.”
Shawn feels something blossoming in his stomach. Like love, except that’s
nothing new, or like fear, except it feels good. Maybe its hope, but he’s never
felt that before, so he’s not really sure. But its something.
& even if we call it madness later
& scrawl four-letter words
across these outhouse walls
we call our skulls—
we stand revealed
by those sudden moments
when we come together.
END
Parts in
italics are from ‘The Evidence’ by Erica Jong.
