Geppetto

Geppetto

I. I only remember thinking how much it looked like the moon.

That night it was big, and pale, and obstinate; you would not let me look away. But I held you all the same.

And you were telling me: I want to hold you all the same. And it was the same, though it didn’t have to be.

Beautiful, how your eyes would not stop looking.

Outside, there were trees; they were holding up clawed branches to keep the stars out of their eyes.

They knew love.

They knew what to do with it. How to keep it at bay. You would not let me look away.

And I remember you thought it was the same. We had a name for it, sometimes. Bleeding, how my hands could not let go.

How my joints creaked, sometimes began to splinter.

II. Were there times that you forgot?

Nobody else could make me happier.

Alive is just a word.

Whenever you would put on a show I could watch myself by the shadows on the wall.

Tell me again how you crafted these fingers, taught these legs to dance, fashioned this mouth with no lips.

I need something again to dream about. Allow me to amuse you. Paint a smile where there ought to be one.

And then another on my face.

Then we could smile together.

Then I could guide your hands to guide my hands and fold them up in prayer.

Then it could rain where it won’t touch us. Where it won’t matter that it’s raining.

And the leaves could shake, and the house could rattle, but it won’t matter that it’s raining.

There’s a story here, somewhere, even if you put it on the shelf.

III. I could tell you the truth if you will listen, but we both know honesty is just rehearsal.

You’ve always held all the strings. You’ve always known what lasts, longer.

But perhaps, one day, one of us shall tire of always looking out the window.

Perhaps one day we’ll deserve to.

I dream sometimes I am a tree: and it is raining, and it doesn’t matter.

Just shadows on the wall.

Your hands are cold; you would be better off by the fireplace.

Better than just lying here with me.

Does it feel warmer? Do you feel my body press against you, slowly growing stiff? Tell me one more time, please, why it looks so much like the moon.