Collecting Poems

I know I love you.
When I think your name,
I write poems.
I gather all of my poetry books
Compulsively arranging them
So I can easily touch the words. 
I collect pages like sticks
For my beaver dam
Sheltered by the energy of sharing.

I feel safe.
Protection rising from
Velocity of thoughts
That come from your pace.
Slowness.

I notice shame creeping.
Intense heart beating a
Prayer drum in my chest
The dryer tumbling
My favorite pair of blue jeans
Snug and Warm
Like our hellos.

I find myself sprinting
To the backdoors of my mind
Unlocking it for you
To crawl into our pasts and 
Lift each other up.
To shield you
So your bravery can
Rest a little longer.
To be the love poem
We've been searching for
In church thrift stores and white men
Still
We keep shopping. 

Today
We laugh over bottomless coffees
Meeting at places where they remember
Our names
Our orders
Letting us sit
Even when we want nothing and
They want nothing but
To let us be.

We travel to the corners of the mundane
Finding exquisite treasure
In the town's worst toast
Lugging library books and hand-me-downs
Leaving vegetables on the stoop.

We imagine the future. 
We dream of careers. 
Substitute teacher?
Bookshop keeper?
Lunch lady?
How else might we care?

We fear
Not getting the job
The hunt continuing -- noticing
The levels of our cups lowering
Our knowing "enough" and
Our readiness to say,
"No, thank you,"
When the world asks if
We want more.