Love and grief are unmatched pairs
of slippers. But they go well with each other.
You were wearing them when we left our hometown
together. One rosy pink and one black.
We wore them to all the museums, bookstores and cinemas
that we once frequented. You can hear their tiny slaps
in the memories of us going to college untethered.
It's present in all the photos we took of each other.
You can catch a glimpse of them in the memories
of your father. They are what you wear when you paint
your landscapes of turbulent waters. They go so well-
love and grief - they might as well be complementary colors.
They're essential wardrobes for characters'
in poems that we used to read (and re-read) together.
Hey Bailey, love and grief are what we throw
at each other when we fight on silly matters.
Every day they come up with conflicting odors. Somedays
it catches a stray scent that reminds me
of my grandmother's banana cake. Somedays I get a whiff
of talcum powder that my mother used to wear.
At times it's severe, this ungodly combination
of pleasure and horror. But we all inevitably wear
heaven and hell together. We can trek mountains with these
unmatched slippers - I'm not worried - we have each other.
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