I didn’t want to look at you.
But you waited ‘til I did.
You looked at me and you said,
“I’m not afraid.”
Your eyes big and
soft like a deer’s.
Your hand curling
around my frame
like a crab that’s just found
a new shell.
The big white tree
behind us standing tall.
The top part broken
from a windstorm.
It broke, and fell right through
my parents bedroom. My
mother recalls it
sounding just like a train.
I could’ve told you this
story, but I didn't.
Even though
I’d slept with you
under this tree.
Even though I wanted
to tell you everything.
There was no time
to tell anymore.
So I let you into my bed,
until you had to go.
Then you did, you left, and I lay
in the bed I grew up in.
Turned my head and watched
through my window the moon
and the big white tree standing tall.
Opened the screen
to feel the white breeze
whispering into and through me.
I hope one day I can
tell you this story.
I hope we can have
a brief moment together.
Even now, I still think
of the way you reached out to me
when I was afraid of being wanted.