What to Call You

A poem I wrote last winter.  Maybe more to come.


Thinking of your name and how it can feel
surprisingly strange in my mouth like
not what it's meant to mean and how
we so seldom used those words
to each other but I see your name
a lot of authors named that, you know
and I work in a library
(hi, nice to meet you)
and I see your – that word – I see that word
and if I let it, it brings me your eyes
it brings a little reluctant smile
a warm softening born in an old moment
it can bring your touch, so much gentle comfort
and a giggle, in how it's never quite fit

I'd have to leave this language
to try and put some sounds to you
maybe en Español, mi compañero
but I think even there it will become a poem
there's no one word in any single language
if Time could talk, we'd work something out
and Light waves describe how they inform experience
through the twice upside-downed eyes
and Scent explain how my nose knows
what you've touched and not touched
and my Skin explain what comes through
so that when we touch you go straight to my bones
and if Memory could collaborate to collect the colors
of all the pieces of time we've shared
and if Energy were given voice and the inclination to testify
to how it's gathered between our bodies

if Atoms had voices
or the Universe could sing
maybe I could find a way
but for now I'll just call you
hey, how've you been?