It’s you, isn’t it?

 

It’s you, isn’t it? 

By Olivia Gwyn

Iwould bring her to him

I would lower her down hand over sore hand 

if I knew the building he was in 

I keep asking, asking 

I start to believe he isn’t really there,

but it’s you I’m talking to, isn’t it? 

I carry her on my back going in circles 

telling the air I can’t find you, 

but it’s you listening, isn’t it? 

You are the air and I am breathing you 

ragged through my lungs

pleading for you to help her, help me

You are not mean

you are not angry

you are just quiet when I want you to be loud 

Drown out the sound of all my insufficiencies, fears 

and give me one breath of fresh air to scream

something to hope in

Instead, you are just here 

and I don’t know what to do 

with you in my veins and lungs 

Beside me like a friend

not leaving 

or saying a word