Quote

Love isn't always magic. But if I offered my body to the magician, if I told him to cut me in half so after that I could come to you whole and ask for you back would you listen for this dark alley love song? For the winter we heated our home from the steam off our own bodies?

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Winter
Love
Song
Cutting
Heated
Home
Magic
Alley
Body
Listen
Alleys
Back
Told
Steam
Come
Magician
Whole
Asks
Offered
Always
Dark
Bodies
Would
Half

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I don't believe we're hateful. I think mostly we're just asleep, but the math adds up the same.
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But whatever However Whenever this ends I want you to know That right now I love you forever
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A doctor once told me I feel too much. I said, so does god. that’s why you can see the grand canyon from the moon.
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The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.
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Sometimes the break in your heart is like the hole in the flute. Sometimes it’s the place where the music comes through.
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We have to create it is the only thing louder than destruction.
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You are not weak just because your heart feels so empty.
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Hey, are you a boy or a — never mind, can I have a push on the swing?” And some day, y’all, when we grow up, it’s all gonna be that simple.
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We are all instruments pulling the bows across our own lungs. Windmills, still startling in every storm. Have you ever seen a newborn blinking at the light? I wanna do that every day. I wanna know what the kite called itself when it got away, when it escaped into the night.
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I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing
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I could never trust anyone who's well adjusted to a sick society.
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and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
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And we were Banksy on an overpass in New Orleans spray-painting porch lights on the hurricane. We were welcome mats for the un-forgiven. We never sold our windpipes to make a living. We were the letters sent to the wrong address, but opened anyway. We opened anyway.
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Yesterday i carved your name into the surface of an ice cube then held it against my chest til it melted into my aching pores today i cried so hard the neighbors knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to borrow some sugar.
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