I noticed last night those cracks in your spine. I like to think they’d always been covered up
faded band shirts and flannels, so I couldn’t see them, like maybe if they were hiding it was okay that I never found them.
It’s just that last night I saw them, bare and glowing red,
and I’m thinking it wasn’t the first time. How’d I never notice?
But his hands were always covering my eyes.
I know on my hands those cracks will sear with heat,
but I want to lay like a child across your sidewalk back
and run my fingers softly through them, collect dirt beneath my fingernails, sift out old cigarettes
and all of those broken bottles.
I want to plant seeds to daisies and watch them bloom in the fissures.
I want to paint a mural in sidewalk chalk along your back, write you love notes on your shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for those, and for him, and for this. I’m sorry for my smile and my broken heart.
I’m sorry I’ve never before pressed the lines in my palms against the lines in your rib cage to see how they match up
but if you’d let me I’ll try to reach in there. If you’d let me.”
This is my first scribbled note for you, and I like to think it’s been waiting in the shaking fingers of the angels or in moon dust somewhere.
This is my first scribbled note for you, and I will fold it a million times, and I will tuck it neatly into the notches of your spine. So beautiful.