#terrible music

I misunderstood what kind of boat party we’d been invited to.

You were screaming in your sleep beside me,
thrashing like a dead shark
held in the arms of a living man.

You were both the shark and the man, which impressed me.
My dreams don’t scare me like that anymore.

Sweating, you woke
and walked swiftly off the deck.

Time passed until, over salmon,
I got to congratulate us
on our perceived humanity.

Agreeing heartily, you poured
champagne into a flute and I was like,
He just ruined that flute.

You proceeded to play the most terrible music.

Love hath made me stupid.

I should’ve thought,
This guy is a terrible musician, shut it down,
but instead I became
a shallow bowl of strawberry milk
riding a fictional boat through a very real storm.

Anyway, after the terrible concert and the great sex it was morning
and in the kitchen you noticed a paper bag folded in on itself,
a spoon cracked with white yogurt lying on top.

Because of my knack for espionage
what you didn’t notice was me,
seated in the corner like a chair.

I watched you find the spoon,
break it apart from the table,
and lift it up to the light.

You stood still, gentle as a rock
sinking to the bottom of a lake, and I thought,
When we die, may that someone lift us purposefully as that.
May they consider us a little then decide
we are suited to our death before they let us go.

Chessy Normile, Great Exodus, Great Wall, Great Party (Copper Canyon Press, 2020)