Delivery

When I moved to Lithuania, I packed a box
of all the things we treasured most,
in there, my margaret miller nettle painting
the cutlery set your parents gave us
my projector for movies and cutting sewing patterns,
my favourite shoes, your favourite shoes
your hiking boots, your yurga earrings
those beautiful ceramics
my tiny percolator

when the box went missing, i was crushed,
raged against the service
wrote angry emails
but nothing could ever get it back
those treasured things were gone forever.

but they were just things
we had each other

We had the dates, the trips we planned and went on
the dresses and skirts I made for you,
that you wore even though I didn’t know how to sew
the hesitant requests I made of you
“swim in this icy river with me, after dark, naked”
that you went along with, beautifully, cheerfully
that punch I took once to protect you

The 2 poems I wrote, one revealed drunkenly
the strange compliments I hand fished
from the lithuanian sky

I loved the sounds you made when you were tired
the way you would tell me to go to my corner
the way you patiently walked with me while I gathered lichen
that time we missed the bus home
the way you smiled

all this talk of loving myself, of being strong
makes no sense
because

I loved you with no backup, no delivery insurance

5 years ago, you took by breath away
and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back