Can You Hear Me?

The crows crackle in the snow

& I've been dreaming about
marriage & children—

hiding in public bathrooms
from a man's love,

cursing & running silently
down empty hallways
like an Indian princess.

I meant it when I said
I would give up all my attachments
for you—

put them in boxes with
"return to sender" stamped in red

& never look back.

I never wanted to be anything
other than you only reason

& sometimes,
I still wonder if I was your muse—

your guitar crying out a
partial proof of my lifestyle

& me, pressing my ears
tight against the speakers
with your voice coursing my limbs
like sexual electricity.

Every time my cheeks burn
from another man's heat

I still think of you

& the three years of poems

laid out end to end
that still never reached your door.

Only after you stopped
letting me hear you
did I find out we weren't the only ones
tied up in music over phone lines—

it wasn't your idea first,

even if it felt like you paused
all of creation with your songs,

just for me.