Phoebe Rusch: I Release You
Photo: Joanna C. Valente
A Prayer For The Man Who Isn’t Ready Yet
Will you know yourself better now?
Will you do that work, allow pain and push
past toward that good kind of ache,
that cathedral ceiling stretching impossibly
skyward? I’m learning everyday
to hold myself, and I pray you’re learning
to welcome grace wherever the shame lies.
To befriend what you thought grotesque.
To thaw
out and receive
spring. Your nervous kindness, your chipped
tooth, how I could see you as a diligent teen
practicing jazz licks for hours: it ached.
You told me you loved me
on our second date, sleep-talking, and startled
awake. I pretended not to have heard, afraid
to disturb that diaphanous juncture fluttering
like a wayward pulse, and you slipped back
into forgetting. Down below the ice
where your face hardens into a study
of dispassion, into disavowal
of your aching beauty. In stasis,
a simulacrum of safety, a vision
absent of collateral.
You split me open so quickly, a paring knife
held in unsteady hands.
My tenderness a terror like any good thing
brutally sweet, painful to withstand
and so easily won.
I release you
but still cast spells toward both our steadying
Phoebe Rusch has an MFA in fiction from the University of Michigan. Their work has previously appeared in Lambda Literary poetry spotlight and The Rumpus, among other publications. They are currently working toward a master's in special education at the University of Illinois-Chicago.
