My bones remind me
to love what can be broken
every time I stand

My heart reminds me
not everything that falls breaks
so I'll shake your hand

here we are, dangling
our feet over the edge
of the meantime,
here we are, sitting
on the edge, dangling
our feet over, letting
the cracked skin of our
fingertips skim the surface
of the meanwhile, waiting
for our reflections to break

The lightning goddess taps her
finger against the glass of us
And flinches back as it shatters
and if the very sky can break,
surely hardwood floors were a mistake?
It’s not safe to fall.

The tornado will teach
of the relief of waking up
again outside your arms.

Wake up. Stretch neck
left, then right. Swing legs
over edge of bed.
Water the plants. See
how they drink up another day
without question.

Other kids think I love
you too much, and adults
tell us children, behave
because we aren't playing right,
arm in arm climbing up slides
or otherwise hiding with hands
where our feet should be.

When I was scared of other kids
and monkey bars
I would have been relieved
to see police tape
surround Fireman's Park.
Now again I look such
surfaces in the eye
and think: if you killed me
I would die

I am not a moth
but I fly to other flames
moths do not feel shame

I am melting.
There is me and us and the air between us.
The falling is the best part.
Will I ever start again?
See me crystalline, and marvel
at all of us different but packed, whispering across space.
The best thing I ever did was grow
into the shape I am.
I slicked the roads.
I slicked the roads
but in the morning I refract the light.
I am for growing, then falling, then rising.
For children not knowing how I came to be.
For curiosity.