Bone White

for brian

it took you drunk calling me to realize that some people actually care about the things i say. a poem here, a poem there, never stopping to ask why these words jump eagerly from my bones onto this bone white page. you said, “i just needed to talk to someone sane.” and i laughed one of the most genuine laughs i’ve felt in a while (the kind that erupts from the pit of your stomach and flows like lava into the asphalt air) and said, “aw, you think i’m sane?” and you spoke on about a time long ago that i’d drunk called you and told you why i write and i laughed even harder because the only thing i vaguely remembered about that conversation was the color of the ceiling.

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