HOW TO BE TWO PLACES AT ONCE

HAYDEN KRADELMAN

Step 1: I breathe deep, feeling my lungs inflate, then deflate. slowly.
Feet solid on the ground.
Here, admiring your face
How it smiles across every inch
Wrinkling in such a way
That evokes tenderness.

Your energy softens mine,
Transferring warmth.
A quiet affection.
An unraveling of my
rather standoffish disposition.

I’m unclothed.
Shirt and bra at the foot of the bed.
Socks sprawled across the floor.
You could say the same about the rest.

You fill the space I cannot.
I feel pressure.
Pain.
Release.
Labored breathing.
The weight of your body.

Indulgence is empty
As hollow as my memory
Of this night

I cannot explain
How I was beneath you
Our limbs intertwined
Your lips against mine

And yet,
I was somewhere else.

The room is burning down.
I fell asleep with a candle lit.
There are consequences to seeking simple pleasures.
I stand still in the doorway.
One foot free, the other committed to suffering.
Choking down soot and smoke.
Insisting on turning to ash with it.

You're a few inches above my face.
Eyes blank.
On the verge of something.
A high we’re chasing.
But I don't get high anymore.

Step 2: Let the blood rush to your head,
And the thoughts escape it.

You are not fifteen anymore.
You're older and safer.

You are not a fawn.
Not contained by stillness
Gazing into blinding headlights.

You are not yet gone
Laying to rest
on the side of the road
To be eaten by the birds
And the dirt.

The door is not locked.
You can go if you want.

Even from this bed,
I can still smell the smoke.

Step 3: I hide under the covers.
Tame my flighty tendencies.
Let the moment passing
Metabolize my fear of intimacy–slow to digest.

I wrap my fingers around yours
Palms touching
As if in prayer

Let you fold around me
Remind myself that
You are not the candle
That burnt down the room

You know more of my body
Than you do my mind.
You know every inch of it
With your hands
And your eyes.

Not of where it’s been,
Where it should’ve left sooner,
Where it shouldn't have gone at all.

You know not of the burning room.
And it's my fault.

My tongue swells in my throat
And I taste the bitterness
of the soot and the smoke
When I think to tell you
That I’m always
Two places at once.