Gettysburg

The cherry blossoms were littered
with obscenities in the District of Columbia

last night, it was too cold to walk home
so I held your hand tighter and whispered

that I still don’t know how to feel good
in the wintertime. On a swing set

facing the street, I watched you smile beautifully
with all of your teeth and remembered

the note you scribbled in the margin of my textbook:
“sometimes, I feel that I am so much more
than what is physically possible.”

It read like a desperate melody
escaping the mouth of a lonely saint,

and we both knew it was true.

You said it would be nice to visit Gettysburg
tomorrow, but the South holds a stiff terror for me

I’m not ready to touch yet,

but maybe in its open fields of blood
and pride, among the graves of young men

I will sit and learn to touch my skin
without leaving bruises.