When he sings, his mouth barely moves
His mouth is a cracked slit, words eking out like
a secret he still wants to keep
He interjects stories in between the verses of the songs he’s
written,
and on this pressed plywood floor,
I am transported.
We are standing in an alley.
We are leaning against a brick wall.
Our breath makes clouds in the air and he says,
quiet and self deprecating,
I don’t know if I’ll ever fall in love again.
Sometimes I cannot sleep.
I’m having trouble eating.
I thought I was doing what men do.
And the music loops and his fingers slide and he is reading
pages from a diary like we are all his closest friends.
I do not feel like I deserve this.
He sings, I have the same tattoo -
Mine is black and hers is blue,
and I’m in Primary Ink leaning over with my spine exposed.
Kai runs the needle over my back and I
hold my breath so that I won’t move.
I hold my breath until I am dizzy, and the tattoo feels
like a slap on a sunburn.
Jordan sits in front of me,
lets me squeeze his hands so tight his fingertips turn white and
cold.
He kisses my head, tells me he’ll love me forever.
He kept that promise until he didn’t have to any more.
Now I have the memory marked in my skin.
Bold, black ink across my spine reads “Mea Maxima Culpa”: my
most grievous fault.
The voice at my back shouts, you are to blame.
You are stained with guilt.
You are the one mired in remembering.
I have the same tattoo -
Mine is black and hers is blue.
And the music loops and his fingers slide and I
Do not feel like I deserve this.
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