Burning fingertips

on the wax of candles

from birthdays

I want to wish you

and your presence

missed, dissipating.



Your memory is aging.

Waiting for you

make a wish.

Artists cut from clashing fabric.


We spoke in vibrant, fading colors
baby blue and forest green.


Inherent distance
land and sea.


You aren’t brave enough
                                     to tread my ocean.
I have no interest
                                    in climbing trees.

They said the warm weather
and good vibes would
save the frigid /
inconsolable / lost
cause

want for a new life.

We are still cold and lonely.
We are still searching for heat.

Like a curtain my straightened hair hides

me in its second act

Covering the understudy

set to take my place.

A performance of me, who is not me,

body dressed up and acting.

In the pews,

Ma, and Pop, waiting to be proud

accomplishments I claim, but reject.

Afraid I didn’t earn

how I am seen to a crowd.

My hair curls to

humidity that

chases a curtain call.

I bend at the spine with a smile

You are that first gasp of air,
the relief in resuscitation.
The only reason I’d ever dream
of breaking the surface.

Eyes to the sun, drifting
towards settled land.
I’m breathing on my own now 
but you don’t seem to care.

Backs to the water,  
float arms out to the heavens.  
This is the first of few days
I haven’t thought about drowning.

You are not stuck.
Have you not woken this morning to a new day?
Your mind thrives on each new thought.
You are born an idea of hope
gifted to this world,
with guidance
and the freedom
to choose who you are.
                    
Who you will follow
        Who you will lead.

You are not stuck.

You are building everything
that you were meant to be.