A poem by Kellyanne Fitzgerald.
Love Letter
scratch against paper
shining ink set atop of blankness.
words into calm not to fill the space
but to clear one behind them
as salt on ice.
i am trying to tell you how i feel about you
and somewhere island brambles
catch maroon light,
and the sun loses its balance again,
falls over the edge of the sea
in a thousand splinters of glass.
at some point our steps braided together
unmarked by the ceremonies of my parents
and their parents before them.
we buy our own dish towels and dryer sheets.
send articles about starting farms,
data tracking, cows in Minecraft.
note each other’s measurements.
will i always be enough for you?
will you always be enough for me?
we knit, carve chess pieces, make zines
about cereal and quotes. try to figure out a path
to a life not spent at a screen. not spent scrolling,
numb and blank faced, through forest after burning forest,
war between families eating outside.
days that don’t end in a dial tone static rectangle
white light behind the eyelids.
we sleep less now.
woken every morning
by the scratching
the cat asking for food.
when i left France i said i would get married there.
the stone church
on an island with aged walls,
tree light and freckled shade.
your grandmother will never get on a plane
so we will never marry in the stone church.
christmas garland embroiders the walls.
warm light and messy rugs. sighs and interrupted
twitches, headaches. you smell a perfume i love
and insist it is air freshener. we laugh
at the black cat who sleeps in our sink.
is it you against me? is it me against myself?
is it us against the world?
all of the advice from older couples
is woolen and flush with their success.
i don’t want to chain my hand to yours.
i want to grow trees next to each other,
a whole forest of them
branches stitching together
carrying a ceiling of snow
dark and light greens.