For Elena, or http://schmeisicle.tumblr.com/

One of my best friends.

Melancholy

The Earth speaks in whispers. Her call

is dead leaves, ponds icing over, a child leaving home.

She cries: We are all together! You know my name,

but you have forgotten it. Your love of Spring does not heal.

Your love of comfort does not soothe. Your teeth bite, they ache,

and you trample layers of growth. You are mean,

friend, and you see no beauty in the cold. You see only hell,

and wander namelessly, lonely, forgetting the others. Your cell

is an avalanche of doubt… You forgot: in this place, we are all holy,

all Paradise lost and regained. We are all comely,

visible, and extraordinary. It is up to you: stop being coy

and remember: we are all together: simple, plain, elegant, calm.

This is for Celine. Her favorite quote is: “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

I am sick. Heart-broken coughs rattle my body and the

cold burns everywhere. Sickly sweet, this sickness is the greatest

pandemic. I am in love. And what a love! The thing

is, it causes palpitations. My sinuses are stuffed. You’ll

laugh, sure, but I am bed-ridden. Each and ever-

y night I shiver in cold, flu sweats. And my body has learn-

ed to adapt. My aches and pains are caresses. Is

that not the definition of ecstasy? To just

lay writhing in the ache? To wish for a beginning? To

feel as if every pore is bursting? Yes, love

is an illness of the worst kind. Incurable, fatal. It is cancer and

it is also the cure. The radiation emanates, be-

ing both chemotherapy and chemoempathy. I am loved

and it is the infection that will kill me. It tears apart my cells. In

our bed, I leave you with everything, and wait for sleep to return.