I couldn’t find the words to describe you

grace my afternoon with silence
            I am a cotton plug at the end
            of a glass pipette or
            the strap of a leather bag falling 
            off your shoulder.

my nana used to make haluski 
            and I ate around the bits of cabbage.

                                              how long have you sat there like that
mounds of sand along the bank to
           crouch behind and watch 
           as the tide rushes out 

I would cut down these weeds myself
           but I have misplaced the shears
           back when I knew what I 
           wanted to watch on the television. 

to keep swallowing 
           until the autonomic becomes an
           irreversible paste that brings
           tears to eyes and leaves
           words like ‘nice’ and ‘adaptable’ on their tongues.

                                           what else have I given to hear anything different

I do not remember what I feel like to
          dance with or what I 
          would say if you 
          told me to go to hell.

Instead, I am planting flowers 
          to divert the eye
          away from old mulch.

I am a cheap magician at a 
          children’s birthday party
          waiting for one of you to 
          miss my misdirection.