B21
Public Record
Excerpt from novel: with Abandon

my Love is out there

being loved and
giving love and
loving love
with Abandon
and it's killing me.
(don't ask me why,
because She has
and i can't explain it.)
my heart beats differently
when She's out there,
and thoughts have become thumbtacks
prodding at the bouncing thing inside my rib cage
while it pulls itself apart by dogs' teeth.

lie in bed
(don't think about it)
eat breakfast
(don't think about it)
read the news
(don't think about it)
pace the room
(don't think about it)
for hours
(don't think about it)
walk the dogs
(don't think about it)
check the phone
(don't think about it)
check the phone again
(don't think about it)
four hours
(don't think about it)
She'll be home soon
(don't think about it)
nothing's happening
(don't think about it)
She loves me
(don't think about it)
She would never leave me
(don't think about it)
someone is making Her
(don't think about it)
so incredibly happy
(don't think about it)
and loving Her
(don't think about it)
and accepting Her love
(don't think about it)
which is different from
(don't think about it)
Her love for me
(don't think about it)
which is ten years old
(don't think about it)
and malnourished
(don't think about it)
while this new love is new
(don't think about it)
and fresh
(don't think about it)
and mysterious
(don't think about it)
and warm
(don't think about it)
and flowing through Her pink veins
and expanding in Her chest, making Her feel
like nothing else has made Her feel,
making music lovely and good again—
like it was when our love was new.
(don't think about it)
they are each artists and
they are each other's muse and
their art has never been more beautiful
because now the outside air smells like citrus,
and the warmth of the sun
like a warm orange tongue,
and they touch hands
by accident, almost,
by reflex, probably,
and their hearts like hummingbirds
zip and whoosh and escape
for that second
until each one tells their self
“don't think about it”
and they say goodbye
wishing it was some other life
where they could have kissed goodbye.
nothing informal, of course,
but a peck on the cheek
like the europeans do,
and there's nothing
wrong with europeans
so why should that be wrong?
this just isn't that life;
in this one they wish.

as She floats past the doorpost
of our grey home,
i put down the guitar that i was playing badly,
while i waited for time to die,
and She is smiling a smile
that reminds me of ten years ago
after our first
(don't think about it)

She feels that i will snuff out Her joy;
that i will lick my fingers and pinch its wick,
so She keeps it inside, at the back of Her brain,
holding Her hands over the flame,
filling it with kindling of the day's lovely memories,
which heats Her from the inside
as we both just sit there
thinking about it.

Frida Bilson