I miss seeing between the weeds of your life—
the mess of it, tangled and untrimmed.
I miss poking at the blades.
grinning at the knots you hadn’t seen.

Basking in the mundanities:
was it pumpkin or broccoli on the side of dinner tonight?
Asking exactly where it hurt
when your boss scoffed at you that day.
Knowing the small serendipities
that wrapped around you like the sun.

Now I’m a ways away,
past the bend, past where your figure fades.
From this side of the meadow
it’s hard to deny—
the grass looks greener on the other side.

I catch glimmers
filtered joy at the top of your hill.
All light leaks and polished frames
but never the thorns.
Never the dirt under your fingernails.
Not the weeds. Nor the wild.

The distance between us grows unnameable

So now I dream
Of the day I can turn the branch
and see you return a smile.
Of the day I’ll rest again
in the ordinary, the overgrown,
tangled once more
between the weeds of your life.

‍

—

‍

This poem is dedicated to my dear friends back at home.

Abby, Jarvis, Ellie, Stanley, Joseph, Joumana, Jessy, and the girls — I miss you all so very much.