Want.
I want
To want.
I want to,
But I'm afraid.

July

My professor's condo overlooking the lake
Where fireworks fly above to bridge linked islands
Every 4th of July.

I bring the mail in,
Clean old teacups and study the fish.
Water the plans & play the piano.
Thumb through some CDs to borrow & listen
In my car on the way to work.
I browse his library shelf with
Books of art and gay literature.

There is a set of beautiful journals,
Appearing as if a set.
Each an installment of gifts.
One front page inscription reads as
An Easter present from a lover Joe.
"From the Easter bunny, bunny."
The first page tells of a trip abroad
And longing from being apart.

I wonder what happened to Joe.
Where is he now?
Do they still talk?
And does he know of Michael's condition?

I feel sad,
Thinking of the professor's clean, white apartment
Living alone for so long, devoted to his field & students.
He is much like his Oscar fish
Who sits alone in his massive tank.
I note the similarities.
And that's how he'd rather have it--
Not understanding why anyone would fawn over him,
Even now with his terminal illness.

And I wonder where I will be in forty years
Or when I'm dying.
Who will be by my side?
And all I want is to be as great a man as my granddad,
And find a woman as beautiful as my grandmother.
I pause, and sit,
And am lonely & defeated.

He passed away in July,
After moving home, with countless visitors
In and out.
Old colleagues calling, students travelling
From Atlanta, New York,
Driving from Iowa, Chicago.

He did not want a funeral, but music.

At his remembrance in the organ recital hall,
Songs were sung and played,
A concert of piano & cello.
People told stories of his commitment, assertiveness,
Tantrums & sass.
And I cried,
Not because he was dead,
But because I longed to make such an impact.
I gave up my fantasies of union,
Feeling the desire to take over his torch
And marry my work.