6 wing, mild sauce, extra lemon pepper.

When you get out of surgery
I’m gonna bring you
a 6 wing, mild sauce,
extra lemon pepper.

Remember when you
swallowed that chicken bone,
as we laughed at suburban moms
with their floral blouses,
sunglasses perched on their heads,
ordering a breast and a wing.

I said “girl this ain’t no Popeyes.”
and you burst into stitches,
bone falling down your throat.
You asked me if you were gonna die.

You’re not gonna die.
They’re gonna get that bullet out,
just like that bone from your
6 wing, mild sauce,
extra lemon pepper.

We were gonna order take-out
that night
you didn’t come home.
Mom asked me what I wanted.
For some reason I couldn’t
figure it out.

But now I would know
exactly what to say.

I would say
I want you
to had never gone to that party,
to had never wore
those brand new Nikes,
to hear your voice
returning my seven missed calls
saying that your phone was just on silent,
to say you were on your way home
and then you would let me play your PS3
because I told mom
to order you a
6 wing, mild sauce,
extra lemon pepper,

to say “I love you.”

But we never got take out
that night.
You never came home.
You’re still in surgery.
Harold’s closes in 30 minutes.
Dad said he’s gonna run
to get me some food
since I’m on the night shift,
waiting for you to get out of the ER.

Don’t worry.
He knows our order.




You wrinkle your nose when he walks in.
I trace my fingers through the wrinkles
on his skin.
What am I attracted to?
The ignorance,
of not knowing.
He holds that key,
to what lies in the shadows,
to that whisper I’m afraid to call out to.
I go on these adventures, but am I settling?
And, if so, to who’s standard?
When you look at nature, where is the beauty?
Is it the color of the trees?
The sound of the birds?
The strength of the ocean’s wave?
I always found the beauty of nature was
the calm.
Merely the calmness that settles,
within my spirit.
When he holds me close, I can finally hear
what my breaths sound like.
He allows me the silence to actually hear
what my breaths sound like.
Can a spirit be sexier, than a chiseled jaw?
Do I even care if it’s sexy?
How do blind people have sex?
They love.
Let our energies spark and nothing else.
And when we’re naked let them see.
that I am not ashamed of the cracks.
Because, you see, I have scars of my own
that many have been afraid to touch
But he, traces them with his fingers.
He’ll die before me but I’m not afraid.
A widow at such an early age.
I’m more curious of what they’ll write on
his tombstone.
How old he was?
No, my love, I’ll write our vows.