POEM: Ibid.

Reflections on lineage and ancestry as I fall in love with a home becoming.

Ibid.

Look at you.

You said you don’t understand.
You said you struggle,
you fight. You
care.

She knew she was going to die unpublished.
You know how to watch people die.
You know how to care for the dying.

You said,
let’s listen.
Bibliograph eroticism in the Academy.
We’ve all been forced to burn our own books–
–keep writing anyway.
You said– I am never not missing someone. You said–
I am so grown.
You said–
I am so new.

I love you. This is how it’s always been.
I dreamt of you when I was thirteen,
when I was fifteen.
Perhaps I wrote you into existence.
I cite my mother,
I cite Foucault.
Thank God for us.

Gently lift up the lobes of my heart,
find your words
in my unbreathing body.
I cite Catherine of Siena:
My nature is fire.
You have resurrected me.