San Francisco’s seemingly petite urban park, which is among the City’s steepest greenspaces, is big on contemplation … sat among gorgeous vistas of downtown San Francisco.
I lay my head on clear blue skies that paint Ina Coolbrith Park and remind myself
How lucky,
(fortunate),
I am to have this summertime tan
If I linger on a park bench too long, I think how grateful
I am to let my skin wrinkle with
smile lines and crows feet
Inside a city, I will always see it as
a part of my soul.
If I’m mild and patient enough, I’ll let my heart flutter in the passing clouds
of lovers and friends, of friends who became lovers,
of lovers who became friends;
of the love around me, that gets me through hard things
that bend things then break things;
of the love I have that keeps me soft and gentle,
supple and delicate,
appreciative and optimistic
When you get back on your feet after being brought up from bleeding knees,
It’s been 816 hours since you hid behind keyboards and slipped onto grids
— using images of that false body;
the one I remember burning against mine.
I sank into painful oblivion inside the vacuum you pulled
when everyday routines drowned in sustained silence
when you chose to leave —
end everything, murder any semblance of friendship,
chances to stay in good graces;
bury your guilt,
hide your shame,
inside the core of a spine,
you’ve hollowed
I still have no idea if any of it was true,
if anything you said was actually above board
along San Francisco sidewalks,
a city we said allows you to be
your most authentic self
— a mirror held up against a phantom
I wince at the sight of a nose ring nowadays;
I wonder when I’ll run into you half-drunk in a bar;
I want to know if you know what you did
I wish for a confession beneath Christmas lights.
For what it’s worth, I pardon you;
I had to for
Myself,
the person I never put first when you
opened doors and said our goodnights,
who let someone who was gone by the morning,
become far too bitter and solemn with spite
You did the best you could
with what you held, at that time
it just wasn’t good enough
or acceptable
or humane;
I can’t help but think who told you
This was otherwise
I’m walking lighter, and brighter than I did that first week of May
every step is an exercise in forgiving you,
all while forgetting you
But never,
under any circumstance,
forgetting what you did
because you’re (still) the smallest man I’ve ever met
in San Francisco.
I watch flowers bloom and open to the world around them,
around myself and them,
as cool air carries and lifts butterflies and bumblebee bees,
hummingbirds don’t yet surrender
It’s July 5th,
I feel liberation
high-pitched whistling earlier in faraway locations
rings closer to
Me,
with drier eyes
still overlooking a city that took nine years to call home,
five years since feeling in-between spaces and places
Back home, I cleaned the floor and organized the drawers
the smell of a candle makes me think of
new joys I can find behind
bonfires underneath tangerine skies
If I sink into this moment longer,
I’ll realize that I’m random enough for
everything to be alright.
