A Poem for Ronen who Photographs People Naked

There is a list
a challenge
and a chasm between me and the person I want to be who could complete it.

I don't know how to start,
how to open my self up or strip myself down or cover myself over.
My organs feel heavy in my chest.
They are rearranging themselves
they are hoping...

My sister calls
the person I know and love most in the world.
It is stilted and awkward
the sirens on the main road makes her hard to hear.
We converse as we walk
always.
She hangs up so she can take her cardigan off.
Where she is the sun is cruel and tickling.
In London I shiver

In 4 months we will be in Spain with our father.
Who we love.
She is scared of losing her identity untethered from the things she wants to achieve
in the heat and relaxation she will twist and writhe and snap.
I will be alone
as is expected.
And forgotten spanish wont help-
Ne se porque tiene que ser asi
pero como se dice
es lo que hay.

Until then I have plans, ideas, hopes but no destination.
When you have achieved what you were aiming for, achieved fulfilment and a nagging sense of deception what next?
My organs rearrange themselves in my chest,
they too are impatient.

There is a list
and a chasm
and my nakedness won't bridge it.