Confessional Disguised as Love Poem

(after Matthew Olzmann)

by Alexandra Beers

Here’s what I’ve got, why I think I’ll stay:
because you always, always seek more—
more laughs, more music, more argument. 
Because you are too much of everything.
Because you are so damned difficult to live with 
that the challenge is what keeps me alive.
Because our first fight was over Tolstoy. 
Because our last fight was over safety. 
Because you fell asleep while I was in labor, 
fell in love with our newborn, 
and made pancakes while we nursed.
Because you are competitive about your dreams, 
which often feature Springsteen admiring your work. 
Because you are forgetful about your keys. Your wallet. 
Your phone. Your shoes. Your coat. Your coffee cup.
Because you pour yourself a stiff drink and do not finish it. 
Because you will not throw anything away—
not your 3rd grade anti-litter editorials, 
not the ticket stub to your first Dead show,
not any of those rejection letters. Because you gave me 
your old guitar and taught me how to play it. 
Because you gave me a Raggedy Ann coin purse 
you found on the street. Because you gave me 
a cassette of Louis and Oscar, 
the Sweet Honey tickets you won on the radio, 
that pearl you found in an oyster. Because you dug up
your bar mitzvah bonds to buy us this apartment.
Because you cry at the movies and in crowded cafes.  
Because you ask me what I want, whispering.
Because you ask me how it feels. When I walk in the room, 
you ask how I’m doing. When I leave, you want me back. 
Whenever possible, you want to touch.
When I bristle, you want to touch, still. 
You whistle tunes you cannot name, 
top every dish with Sriracha, and do not remember 
my every breakdown. You do not even call it a breakdown.
We just are who we are.
And when you forgot, again, our Big Day, 
you panicked at first, then high-tailed it to the icy beach, 
scoured for an hour, and returned nearly frozen, 
holding out to me a fistful of rocks, 
each one more or less in the shape of a wrinkled heart.