By Justin Rigamonti

Featured Art by Claire Bateman

for J

All I want is your love and arugula 
and anxiety meds. Maybe
a table for our chess board,
a new toy for the dog, four or 
five more plants. The only thing I’ve 
ever cared about is having books 
stacked to the ceiling, a photo
montage on the fridge, maybe 
a stove that isn’t from the 1980’s.
I mean, it isn’t much. Monthly
morning hikes across the green
steel bridge would be nice,
finches in the park branches, a slash
of late November sunlight 
simmering our boots. Please just 
hold my hand. Please just keep 
fumbling with your cellphone’s
selfie camera to catch our 
mid-bridge grins. Just one
more game of backgammon, just 
one short conversation with my father’s 
only decent friend, who died before 
I could bring myself to call him.
All I wanted was to hear an honest man
say something kind about my dad.
Say something kind about me, please
hold me close. All I’m asking for 
is you to come back to me
from the grocery store, lorazepam
in hand, a bag of arugula—for you
and all of this to be here 
when I wake up from my nap.

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Justin Rigamonti teaches writing & publishing at Portland Community College and serves as the Program Coordinator for the Carolyn Moore Writing Residency. His poems have been recently published or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Radar, New Ohio Review, Thrush, and Smartish Pace.