Shoot straight. Be kind.
All this in mind didn’t help
dispel your electrical storm,
fuzzy and far away.
What the hell?
Met you in media, resident of a connatural cold,
your head in a cunning cloud,
your hammer of gold.
Got used to you lank in the spring: recovering,
dragging me to shows,
burying glass in the ground,
barring entry to rooms I couldn’t know.
Used to be scared of getting a call —
it wouldn’t be you, just your dad or your mom.
I’m not scared now; somehow you got strong.
(But I catch myself angry for the kid that you’ve been.
Wish I’d been there, all grown up, to keep an eye out for him.)
Lead in your soil, to bloom where you fall,
handing burdens down and down —
that be the verse and the chorus come around.
Talked a long, long time, then you’re done, turned inside,
your disinterred fossil dissolves into sand, and
the drag, the resistance, salt on my wrist —
it's good, just like this. The table abandoned,
you search for your shoes and
you rewrap the bandage
and bolt out, headlong —
(‘Round comes the burden of your song.)
So we’re bound but unbound by the ties that we string.
I don’t need to know anymore, anything.
Work of each moment and moment and moment,
laying burdens down with you.
Love you, my broadcast-already-in-progress, I do.
released May 10, 2019
Tessa Anderson | Flute
John Dunlop | Cello
Christopher Hawthorn | Trumpet
Sofia Hirsch | Violin
Dan Liptak | Clarinet
Laura Markowitz | Viola
Robinson Morse | Bass
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