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A Farewell to Jack Dawson

A Farewell to Jack Dawson

read-a-long feat. Jhené Aiko

Remember when we met?

Your eyes on my body, slurred compliments

And lazy lips filled the lapse of melody and rhythm.

Like a magnet to a fridge, you clung.

I took you home to rest your head,

Not the one that sprang and leaped with impulse,

Not even the one between your legs.

But that which housed the forgotten way

Of the forgotten self

That rose to find me.

Sleep, dear boy.

My own forgetfulness dangerously bowed to recognition

Of breath and body and unsuccessful escape;

The key is here, in my sorrow.

Just for the night, I’ll enter the maze, end up in the meadow

With white lilies and blue hydrangeas (hy-dran-juhz) and perfect memory.

I wish you followed me in to greet you.

Your nature-

Your essence-

Your form-

In the wake of my return.

A month passes and I don’t reach out.

Infatuation finds me often. I don’t even think twice,

Until gravity pulled at my feet and sense became illusion

And I saw you for the first time.

Slurred compliments catch the waves of aura

And forge communion without invitation

That is, without salvation as

Married potential don’t buy time.

I visit you on your campus to learn how your body talks.

It speaks better English than your vocal tract,

Or maybe it speaks soul

Or love.

Or trauma. It speaks to me in tongues,

And to my body in prose.

And to my amnesia in surety.

As you huddled my back

With inspiration and smooth skin, I remembered I was searching, too.

I guess we’re dating now, for all of a week.

You leave the country, I prepare to rejoin God in three days.

It’s been some months and I’m still preparing.

The phone rings with a 16 digit number, or so.

I’m perfect, I’m smart, I’m sexy, I’m funny, I’m the one.

But married potential doesn’t buy time

And we have none to spare.

It’s been a year plus and I’m still preparing.

I need you to finish the job. Impale the flesh I dwell in

With madness and improbable cause and inverted sight.

So I reach out and spill my guts and forget how to play

How to live

How to breathe.

But I remember my God

And you hold up your end of the contract:

You pinned me down and watched me bleed.

When Easter arrives, I’ll understand.

We are not in love.

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