Dedications

(after Adrienne Rich)

I know you are reading this poem
bleary-eyed from trying to write your
own, lost and tossed on your torrid
phrases, afraid the shore will never
show.

I know you are reading this poem
through saltwater of your own making,
and with a heart clenched tight as a fist in your
chest, and with grief on your breath like a
mourning song.

I know you are squinting and looking for
a word, a phrase you might tether yourself
to, some hope balloon you might fly to
places unknown, anywhere but here.

I know you are reading this poem
trying to figure out why the words are
marching in thisparticularorder and why
all sense and sensibility have gone AWOL and
why this battlefield is still strewn with verb,
noun, participle.

I know you are reading this poem
out loud through a mouthful of rice crispies
each syllable punctuated by snap,
crackle, pop.

I know you are reading this poem
with half your brain
because the other half is busy living
in the three-dimensional world.

I know you are reading this poem
in a thousand ways
because I have read thousands
the same
by candlelight and flashlight under sheets
and fluorescent bulb and lamps on rainy streets
and eyelash flutter
after dark.

I know,
and I am changed, saved
by the fact that
I know you are reading this poem.

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