cursive

speak 
to me in cursive

i want "o"s around
my wrists like
handcuffs

tie me to your tongue 

we learned cursive 
on lined paper

my second grade teacher
who pulled words from
our fingers like 
cassette tape ribbon

speak yourself undone

if i could take back 
what i said to you
on that night 

the words i typed
& deleted from 
a text message as i
sat in the driver's seat
of my car

the lot 
made angels in empty 
parking spots

shadows of gigantic  
"Q"s & "Z"s

the letters
i've long forgotten
how to hold hands with

when we hold hands 
i feel like a necklace clasp 

& i think of asking
my mother to clip my 
red beaded chain behind 
my neck

what are the occasions 
you assemble yourself 
in cursive?

do you fall into 
the yarn bin & 
dig fingers into spools

soft navy blue &
coarse brown like 
the blocky winter coat
she would make that december

i save cursive for
love poetry 

only i don't leave spaces
between words

don't let them come up
for air

hold their heads down
in the bath tub

while they thrash &
spit & cough water
from their noses

i write words 
so desperate for air 
that they only know your name

what should we do
with our lined paper?

i'm waiting for
the train to come 
& knock it all down

smashed snakes on the tracks

tails writhing

leaving their "L"s 
flattened & graceless

i love the cursive letter "F"

it remind me of a
man with a curly mustache 

there was one who used
to give communion 
at church & he put
the papery-wafer into
my hands 

while i imagined him 
as a letter

knotted in on the 
train tracks

will you pull the lever
& send the engine
the other direction

i don't really have
a signature anymore

i just scribble
& it's as good as my name

i used you write
boys & girls names on the back
of my math homework

upside & in cursive

hang the world by
its feet

entwined in the branches
of the willow trees 
up next to the flea market

that way no one could
read them

we're still hanging there
you & me

i'm twisting 
our shoelaces together

to make a word