It’s just on two years
just after 4:30am
and you’re calling
and you’re crying
and you say my dad died
and my very first thought
on the bleak and empty porch
in the grey/green light of the Bay
with the promised sun
still caught below the waterline
is that I will see you again.
I’ll come for you in Colorado
and carry you to California
I’ll wipe the salt from your burning eyes
to the childhood memories
of you so young
and vibrant wild
I’ll take the sorrowed sobs
from your tired, worn-out body
and place them into mine
we are bruised and we are broken.
But I promise
I can fix this
and in the early hours aftermath
of your midnight, melancholy dreams
I will look down upon you
and stroke your sun bleached cheeks
and somehow, before the rising sun
we can, the two of us pretend
I gave us both a better chance.
Sarah. Let me carry you to California.
It’s the only thing to save me.