by Ben Reese
I lean and read against the gray
Cabinet, the daylight from without
My only illumination – his book
Full of ciphers and life
Of which I understand so little.
I am trapped in these pages.
He tried to see in my mind
Not knowing I wanted to see out.
I breathed as he says I breathed,
And I was as glass in those days –
Head hung on car rides home
Fearing the weather of his heart
And never asking of it.
Yet I could feel his heartbeat
Those nights with my eyelids heavy,
My head limp
Resting on his side
The sound of guitar
And the smell of alcohol
Carried me to dreams of Ireland,
Where I have never been.
Am I forbidden here?
He finds me reading,
Eyes red,
And asks if I’m okay.
I lie.