"Work Ghazal" by Jarrett Moseley

The last night we spoke, you said we could make this work.
I sold the bed we used to sleep on, to forget, hoping it would work.

I left the pink book you gave me on my desk, your letters
in my drawer, the ones where you said love is work.

I left the memory of us sleeping on a cliffside in my head
but deleted the picture we took, dead-eyed from waking up to work

at 5 AM on another coast, the night sea barely visible beyond your head
laid against my thigh, sprawled black hair, it was easy work

to be in love with you, but it was impossible to love you
in a way you felt. We were two felled trees attached by thin string, trying to work

gravity against itself. In a Key Largo parking lot, years ago, before we ever fell
through each other, your hand brushed against mine. We worked

so hard to be that simple again. B, forgive me. I would have
given myself away (I did) just to make it work.

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Jarrett Moseley called us from Charlotte, NC.

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