It’s December Now

Can you tell me why it feels like

a corset tugging at the back of my ribs?

Love’s not supposed to feel like that,

you know.

I learn your habits

and start to expect them like California weather.

Today will be like yesterday,

right?

But you remind me that it’s December now. 

The tug starts in my stomach and

scoops around my chest.

Vanilla ice cream lungs

with freezer-burned ribs

that crack and hurt.

You remind me that it’s December now,

and your habits ice over and grow unpredictable.

I thought the weather didn’t change

much in Southern California.

I remember the changing Manhattan leaves

and December morning wind

that would bite my face

and make the insides of my nose crunchy. 

I’m exhausted of almost loved,

of engines starting

to stall out in the cold.

Half-loved

like late-night drunk talk

in a West Village wine shop

that you just aren’t sure

about me.

Is there a moment when the season starts to shift?

I’m not the weatherman.

The blue fox still loved the snow 

even though it hurt

its padded little toes.

But love shouldn't hurt,

I thought?

Love me whole, please.

Take my wounded soul

and surf with me on Christmas.

Say to me,

“I can’t believe it’s winter.

It is so warm in December.”

December 2023