This is not a christmas card
in a language I do not know how to speak
give me the palm of your hand
and let me trace the creases
of your stained glass window
as you draw the curtains
So hang a star at the top of my tree
but never hang an angel
When I was thirteen I wanted ink into my wrist that
read “hope”
over and over tracing
thumbtacks into flesh
if this is hope, the moon hangs in a noose
I can hear the music in you
So turn your porch light on
and pull me under your ribcage
and into your lungs
you are my family
And when we danced in your kitchen for the first time
until we dance in ours for the last time
on our last breath
you are the impossible coming true
and if that is not truth, what is
pull all your gardens out of your chest
this is for saying yes
Draw me my dream bridge
and push me across the rotted wood
no matter how much I scream
