Years have passed since I white-knuckle grasped
The handle of my old brown suitcase,
Packed haphazardly.
Years since that back seat ride,
Looking down, tracing palm lines
Realizing that there were no answers there,
No magic fortune to change your mind
Or your heart.
Sometimes I curse these hands of mine;
Too feeble, too hesitant
To have gripped you and pulled in,
Held on through your thrashing.
Too fast to grab that fraying handle.
I keep these fading polaroids inside my head;
I see your hands wrapped around your old guitar,
Holding it gently, cradled in your lap.
Your fingers,
They dance on strings,
I can hear them pluck out the notes
That have been sleeping in my chest.
In these swirling picture-dreams,
I lean in, watching you
Pulsing in and out of focus,
Earthquaking knees, swallowing hard,
Heart beating fast and wild,
Trembling lips and shuddering lungs.
But when I reach for you
My hands are always steady.
The handle of my old brown suitcase,
Packed haphazardly.
Years since that back seat ride,
Looking down, tracing palm lines
Realizing that there were no answers there,
No magic fortune to change your mind
Or your heart.
Sometimes I curse these hands of mine;
Too feeble, too hesitant
To have gripped you and pulled in,
Held on through your thrashing.
Too fast to grab that fraying handle.
I keep these fading polaroids inside my head;
I see your hands wrapped around your old guitar,
Holding it gently, cradled in your lap.
Your fingers,
They dance on strings,
I can hear them pluck out the notes
That have been sleeping in my chest.
In these swirling picture-dreams,
I lean in, watching you
Pulsing in and out of focus,
Earthquaking knees, swallowing hard,
Heart beating fast and wild,
Trembling lips and shuddering lungs.
But when I reach for you
My hands are always steady.