I
Did he not see?
that my stars were piqued by other starry fires
and I was chalking up
tediously
the hands of would-be ghosts,
that I was reaching for
the crags that would harden
my knuckles with shame
for my fear
my inaction out of fear,
my lack of art.

II
Little pine needles
scrape the arches
of my feet
in my inadequate shoes
He told me how to wear shoes properly,
bought me a good pair
and I’m sorry I sold them
I couldn’t I just couldn’t
and I’m sorry, you now, that I couldn’t bring myself
to teach you the same

III
My mouth always wants something to do
so it lopes around
like a horse’s, grazing
seeking salt, skin,
validation,
time.
I recall the taste of the stale air in the LAX airport, moments before
the only time I cheated,
made murderous my mouth.
I later stood before him on the sidewalk under
latenight streetlights
and asked him to stay,
stranger,
stay.
He didn’t.
He left the next morning
to do the good work in
Nepal.
Years later he wrote
to say he
finally understood
what I was trying to do in
my meditation,
that he had found it there
among the Thangkas.
“Spiritual enlightenment,”
he called it
of course

IV
I had written a letter about
soul mates
though he wasn’t mine
and still,
he was in the way
he broke me, made me charge forward.
And now he wrote
that what he experienced was wildly beyond
anything anyone
could imagine. He could receive
any and all
information as long as he posed the question
and during this state he learned all about soul contracts
and things of that nature.

V
I reread my young words and
was grateful

– Leah Baker