by Lydia Rae Bush
There is a seashore
where we relax because the waves
tell us to—
my fingers don’t drum the beats
of your breaths held, you don’t rub my skull,
and it is not so hard.
I don’t even have to lie my body
down to focus my mind,
because your own is so calm
that your words
are rolling out.
So I meet you here,
and I don’t feel so mad at you for only
loving me this well in my mind
once I see you here,
because here is where I see you most clearly—
here is where you
be you most clearly,
and if this perfection is you,
then this ocean is heaven, and my reality
is I could never stay mad at you at all.
Lydia Rae Bush is a poet exploring themes of embodiment and social-emotional development. Rae’s work is Best of the Net nominated and appears in publications such as Vocivia Magazine and Corporeal. When not writing, Lydia can be found singing and dancing, especially in bed when she is supposed to be going to sleep. Her chapbook Free Bleeding is forthcoming with dogleech books.
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