Saying Your Names by Richard Siken

>Chemical names, bird names, names of fire
and flight and snow, baby names, paint names,
delicate names like bones in the body,
Rumplestiltskin names that are always changing,
names that no one’s ever able to figure out.
Names of spells and names of hexes, names
cursed quietly under the breath, or called out
loudly to fill the yard, calling you inside again,
calling you home. Nicknames and pet names
and baroque French monikers, written in
shorthand, written in longhand, scrawled
illegibly in brown ink on the backs of yellowing
photographs, or embossed on envelopes lined
with gold. Names called out across the water,
names I called you behind your back,
sour and delicious, secret and unrepeatable,
the names of flowers that open only once,
shouted from balconies, shouted from rooftops,
or muffled by pillows, or whispered in sleep,
or caught in the throat like a lump of meat.
I try, I do. I try and try. A happy ending?
Sure enough — Hello darling, welcome home.
I’ll call you darling, hold you tight. We are
not traitors but the lights go out. It’s dark.
Sweetheart, is that you? There are no tears,
no pictures of him squarely. A seaside framed
in glass, and boats, those little boats with
sails aflutter, shining lights upon the water,
lights that splinter when they hit the pier.
His voice on tape, his name on the envelope,
the soft sound of a body falling off a bridge
behind you, the body hardly even makes
a sound. The waters of the dead, a clear road,
every lover in the form of stars, the road
blocked. All night I stretched my arms across
him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing
with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe.
Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be
like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed
to pieces. Makes a cathedral, him pressing against
me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe
his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me
like stars. Names of heat and names of light,
names of collision in the dark, on the side of the
bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen
on jeans and hands and the backs of matchbooks
that then get lost. Names like pain cries, names
like tombstones, names forgotten and reinvented,
names forbidden or overused. Your name like
a song I sing to myself, your name like a box
where I keep my love, your name like a nest
in the tree of love, your name like a boat in the
sea of love — O now we’re in the sea of love!
Your name like detergent in the washing machine.
Your name like two X’s like punched-in eyes,
like a drunk cartoon passed out in the gutter,
your name with two X’s to mark the spots,
to hold the place, to keep the treasure from
becoming ever lost. I’m saying your name
in the grocery store, I’m saying your name on
the bridge at dawn. Your name like an animal
covered with frost, your name like a music that’s
been transposed, a suit of fur, a coat of mud,
a kick in the pants, a lungful of glass, the sails
in wind and the slap of waves on the hull
of a boat that’s sinking to the sound of mermaids
singing songs of love, and the tug of a simple
profound sadness when it sounds so far away.
Here is a map with a your name fora capital,
here is an arrow to prove a point: we laugh
and it pits the world against us, we laugh,
and we’ve got nothing left to lose, and our hearts
turn red, and the river rises like a barn on fire.
I came to tell you, we’ll swim in the water, we’ll
swim like something sparkling underneath
the waves. Our bodies shivering, and the sound
of our breathing, and the shore so far away.
I’ll use my body like a ladder, climbing
to the thing behind it, saying farewell to flesh,
farewell to everything caught underfoot
and flattened. Names of poisons, names of
handguns, names of places we’ve been
together, names of people we’d be together,
Names of endurance, names of devotion,
street names and place names and all the names
of our dark heaven crackling in their pan.
It’s a bed of straw, darling. It sure as shit is.
If there was one thing I could save from the fire,
he said, the broken arms of the sycamore,
the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard —
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine — or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin — I’ll be right here. I’m waiting.
Say hallelujah, say goodnight, say it over
the canned music and your feet won’t stumble,
his face getting larger, the rest blurring
on every side. And angels, about twelve angels,
angels knocking on your head right now, hello
hello, a flash in the sky, would you like to
meet him there, in Heaven? Imagine a room,
a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,
my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated
cities at the center of me, and here is the center
of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we
can drink from, but I can’t go through with it.
I just don’t want to die anymore.


I’m not even sure what to say.

>Yesterday I was bursting, barely contained.
Today, feel falling silent, small.
Changes, change, leave me.
Its sunny and raining.
This is the metaphor I’ve been searching for.
A summer shower, resplendent, freezing rain
ending in rainbows.
The same and also different.

Still small words.

>So many drives from the airport.
returning highways like the breaking of bones
I didn’t know I had.

Wind blew across the asphalt and I
felt my chest squeeze
my heart out onto the yellow lines
separating me from you.

I flicked my cigarette ash
onto the pavement
I pretended that
things could have been

that you would have known
what I was trying to say all along.

We were never
Your stirring in the middle of the night
my bad dreams
our lack of breathing.

Photos and letters
bad food and worse poetry.
Highways and dirt roads
stitching our histories into the periphery

windows opened to the rain,
hands squeezed my knee
when things went by too fast
when I forgot to stop.

The loneliest drive
only comforted by not knowing.
I didn’t use the breaks at all,
only wished I could
downshift into something permanent.

I do.

>Its a whisper. Tomorrow. Not a promise this time. Up late, I’m listening for more small words. And, this isn’t a poem, but I want it to be. I need everything I’ve got and more. This isn’t a poem, but if it were, we’d be perfect. Perfect.


>I’m seriously falling behind in this 30/30 thing. Wrote a haiku one day, which seems like a cop out, and I feel like a big mess of words. but. Its okay. Here’s another one:

Sweaty sunrises

You were unashamed
I was too young to pay much attention
Tanned and gangly, gracious

Don’t try and be something you’re not
(I was)
Lets just get in the car and go
(I did)

Light blue VW
the shifter
stitched into the palm of your hand
experimental noise rock
loudest through one speaker

I don’t think you ever combed your hair
cut it in the bathroom sink
never seemed to have any toilet paper
smelled like a
white knuckled grip on the steering wheel of me
tighter still

I clutched back
My fingers quaking
you were just a gust of wind

We waited by the side of the road for
You always
got what you wanted
(I didn’t know that I did)

You sent new white underwear
in the mail
a book about sailors
nursery rhyme lyrics
(I still have them)

I hear you’ve been in Mexico City
Just a gust of wind past my periphery

Here, its never hot in the morning
I’m not so young anymore


>Hail Mary, full of grace

The virgin mother is
glowing in my bedroom.
She’s a nightlight you left for me
to find my way.
I’m trying to stand up in the aisles of my
chest cavity
but its too windy for my bowlegged boy
to lace his fingertips through your
tangled resurrection.

Blessed art thou among women
and I miss you on days like these.

I’ll get on my knees for you
Stay there lighting candles
illuminating your forgiveness.
Bury my face in the robe of your skin
and breathe you in.

And blessed is the fruit
The Marys are
blinking down the stairwell.
The Marys are
hanging themselves up and down my doorframes.
I’ll be bleeding for you
waiting to
bathe your feet in the breath of my
heart aching

Now and at the hour of our death
I’ll stand
for centuries by the altar of your
hands .
Open my mouth only to sing


>First day of 30/30 and already anxious. Here goes.


I keep the windows rolled down and
the heat turned up.
Smoke cigarettes in the shower
and drink iced coffee in a snow storm.

Ive got a see-saw jawline and cream puff cheeks
A santa claus belly and tiny feet
Ship in a storm eyes rocking back and forth
deluging ideas I won’t reform upon waking.

Because there’s no where to land
except down
and there’s no way to dream sensibly,
so I’ll keep bedding down.