me, you

the feeling of a phone pressed up to my ear
and the voice on the other line "911, what's your
emergency? are you ready to wine and dine?"

it happens in many movements,
like the waves my father's boat created
as we parted the mississippi river into two
i didn't know much about me, but i knew all about you.

your favorite color is blue
and your father isn't nice. your mother
is an alcoholic. you aren't a fan of rice.
you say you like chinese food, but you barely
eat at all. when i told you to eat dinner, you said
'i've been eating doritos all fall.' you liked to listen
but barely liked to talk. you were hesitant to speak
of the past, instead making plans and forgetting them all.
you liked it when i gave you reasons, as if we ever
needed to explain. you said it was neither of our faults,
because you didn't like to blame.

you listened to me
when others would not.
you made me feel taller,
sprouting up like a summer corn stalk.
you made me feel important, that much was true,
and you made me feel safe to depend upon you.

sad to say, we all have an end,
and when it hit thanksgiving, we fell
into a silent dread. it went on for a few weeks
until i had the courage to ask what we were -
you said "nothing, I guess" as if we were an abandoned,
back-alley store.

we were something
and that's what i needed at the time
but i forgot to leave as you did, instead
replayed the hitting of the door. the frame
came to collapse, and i took the damage; felt
the empty spaces as a reminder. didn't ask
to have it bandaged.

911 couldn't do shit,
not when you're sitting on your bed
and regarding yourself as an empty blitz.

i put down the phone
a long time ago. i don't need
a call, don't need to reach out
to anyone. this isn't about saving
myself. it's about stepping up and
acknowledging the "nothing, I guess."