A new poem by performance poet Carrie Rudzinski.

Love Poem after Seven Years

At this point it’s difficult to sleep
without you. I prefer to take up
the whole bed with you in it, just to
listen to your protests before I fall
asleep. I’ve said No
to your drunk half-proposals
more times than I can count but
you did clean kererū shit off my arms
after I stood directly under one so
it feels like we’re in this together.

I prefer making people uncomfortable
in airports because you’re shaking me
like I am a giant laughing baby than
the three weeks I thought about
breaking up because I was scared
of our bodies growing old
together. Sometimes it feels
like we’re adults when my mom
refers to you as my partner instead of
my 37-year-old boyfriend. You hate
all of the music I listen to
so we will probably sit in silence
at our wedding if we have one but
at least there will be cake.

I’d like to move into our own
apartment so we can pee
in the shower at the same time
and I can massage your scalp
until you look like an old dog.
You tell me I’m mean and I am
and you give and give and I do not
deserve you but you did not
own a pair of shorts before
we dated so you’re welcome.

When people ask how we did
long distance for three years
I just shrug and say We liked
having separate lives because
it’s hard to explain we were too
intoxicated listening to each other
breathe to hang up the phone.

I didn’t know you’d move
to another country with me
or run your fingers through my hair
each time a person I loved died
or say Yes love every time I ask you
to get me a glass of water
from the kitchen when I have
two perfectly good legs but
we are here now. We are still
here.