Save-a-Lot
gets wiped clean of grape jelly
in the springtime for orange beauties.

I obsess over the whimsy.
I repeat it like proverb.
I tell them,
so they can see in this little moment
that orange and purple fit together.

You wouldn't believe
that they are boomerangs
silhouetting by the late sun
it came to our minds easy

thinking about it often
stuck on orange and purple
and boomerang flight.

I laid on the asphalt with my eyes on the sky.

My hands were flattened: palms pressing toward the ground and picking up the intricacies of my driveway, forming tributary imprints on my skin.

My legs were sprawled and my feet angled pointedly outward.

A piece of pink chalk, quickly waning in size, tethered me to this position.

Elena, my closest childhood friend, had taken it upon herself to outline my body from head to toe. She had been on my left leg when the chalk brushed up against my left calf ever so slightly,

and I flinched.

That prompted a scolding that wasn’t the first and surely wouldn’t be the last.

“Hold still!”

I squirmed at every close encounter. Suddenly every inch of my body had an itch calling for a scratch, my chin-length, dark hair trailing on my cheek was begging to be brushed away. I wrinkled my nose at the dust drifting in the air that was emanating from her tedious tracing.

I sneezed.

Elena jumped back, causing the chalk line to veer violently off the course of my figure’s frame.

She rolled her eyes and huffed and told me it was finished anyway.

I peeled myself off the ground, inspecting my hands and brushing pebbles off my shorts.
I slowly tip-toed out of the rugged lines that had corralled my body.

The creature of contour before us resembled a puffy figure closer to the Michelin Man than my smaller-than-average seven-year-old frame.

My fingers were ballooned and bumpy; my legs curved as if boneless.

Elena and I exchanged a look of dissatisfaction.

“It doesn’t really look like me,” I replied frankly.

A hallway.
for me and you
was a couple of leaps between shadows
to
laughter followed by scolding
and
right back to the hallway again.

Once,
You made
Five hundred and thirty-six miles
A hallway.

A carpet trail
Turned sinuous backcountry roads
In the dark of late fall,
The skeletal trees
Of Upstate New York
Unlike our home’s shoe-print walls.

My eyes burned with relief
At the headlights of your car.
Lugging puffy blankets through my door
Laughing at your air mattress,
To my roommate’s dismay,
Taking up the floor.

From highways to new hallways
Laced with your memories  
Those concrete corridors
In their freedom-filled, fluorescent glory.

To our current hallway,
Where your door mirrors mine
Where you paint with 5 o’clock sunlight
On my freckled face.
The smell of cheaply brewed coffee
That we separately make.

Tis morning,
my " " key stopped working.
I'm trying to write my paper,
and it's so distracting.

As if I wasn't distracted enoug already.
I ate tis.
But I ave to write my paper.
But at least now I ave someting to blame my distraction on
oter tan you.

I have had this reoccurring dream.

that the sun is so bright
I become paralyzed.
unable to open my eyes.

My face
contorted.

     eyebrows raised
     jaw stretched
     pupils restless.

body immobile.

I remain.  
not exactly,
yet at the same time completely,

blind.

I don't know if I'd call it a nightmare,
but it's the only dream that scares me.

Dear Rebeka,

Is it the same for you?

Anxiously bouncing your knees
while furiously scribbling notes.
Always taking glances
out the library windows.

Looking for nothing.
Nothing in particular.
just anything... ANYTHING OTHER
than a laptop screen
or another ******* lined piece of paper.

Upon exiting the prison, you find the outdoors enticing.
The sharp breeze flushing your cheeks,
The soft glow of evening
soothing the afterimages of fluorescent lighting.  

So cold your breath is tangible,
Hands tucked safely in your pockets,
Inhaling the night's air
like your drinking a tonic.

Thinking about home, and it's all so romantic.
Trying, but failing, to be more pragmatic.

**** it.
**** it.
**** it.  

Let's drop everything...
... and hop in the Prius.

All my love,
Jill

This garden you planted in my mind.

Weeded out my doubts
Your words like seeds
Your thoughts caring
Like the clouds
Looking out for the ground
With their rain.

I shook you off
Like the branches
And the leaves in November.

Yet you returned
Like the spring
And you’re slow to scold winter.

Conveying Their Message
Killing it in sky-hi cork wedges. You like?
SMART

a continuous,
PLAY BY
national parks
A
reminder
give to the world

Study the Past
if sharp knives make
     you nervous...
Live it, do it, enjoy it--
     don't hesitate!
survive for five years.
Then look back

Same old, same old... everywhere I look.
and I watch the water coming and going.
I love living.
bread-and-butter.

There's a screen door
That slams if you let it shut by itself.
The woven metal rattles distinctly.
It wakes my parents up,
Causes my dog to leap from her perch on the couch.

There are floorboards
That groan with each step.
The sanded surface is smooth.
It has this smell that fills the room,
It's old, but it's pleasant, and I liked to breathe it deeply.

There are windows
That fill the walls.
They let all the natural light in.
They're a great alternative
To the screen door when I'm locked out.

There's a doorframe
That sits at the top of the stairs.
It leads to parent's bedroom
We've marked all of our heights on it,
With different colored pencils.
That's my favorite part.

Here comes the night life.
Yellow lights spill all over main street,
But the dim, blue sky takes its sweet time to leave.

Hands delicately scale a piano
as the drum leads in it's sporadic fills.
The trumpets burst and pop
while a saxophone glides softly.

The people sit and chat
While their cups are emitting swirling steams.
The faces brightly lit
by store windows and neon open signs.

They had the same man bun!

The wisdom is held tightly,
swaddled in opinion.
The trains of though race,
with a hot coal that burns.

Burns and pounds
and the weapon's locked away.
Writhing and screaming,
but a silence counts the seconds on the clock.

Clock's that move quickly,
but slowly runs the time.
The gunpowder finds the match:
Smithereens of impressions scattered on the floor.

The works that are spoken,
and meant to fix the broken,
are launched into a crowd.

Words upon heart,
but I’m drifting apart,
from an auditorium chair.

They say every verse that is read
goes in and out my head,
and I feel a dearth of knowledge.

But found by the trees,
are my words of ease,
spoken straight from His mouth.

A blue sky set before me,
the meadow of perfect grass,
I sit and wallow in a sweet wisdom.

One of us sees a storm.
visibility is low,
winds are high,
as a blizzard swirls and howls.
The hazy sky rages forevermore.

It's always been, and will it always?
At the corner of her room,
her face is hidden by emotion.
Soon snowflakes will fall for the last time.

The other sees nothing but the same.
The same old rain
Every single day.
The grey sky sheds its tears infinitely.

Its always been, and will it always?  
At the corner of her room,
She rests her head on a fist.
Soon the yellow rain jacket will find its hook.

what happened
or what's going on
or why he did what he did.

the way she's feeling
the way they're all feeling,
what I'm feeling.
So complicated.

when I cried
and you didn't.
while I slept,
and you couldn't.

why it happened there
and happened then.
What I can't do
and what I can.

why the world is this way now.
why my thoughts have shifted.
why it couldn't be different.


Why?

I don't know.

The snow crunches rhythmically
as I thump the ground.

Over
and over
and over
they pound.

I run the streets in a sharp, cold air,
and oh how I've missed the running sound.

A single step
can be safer than the next
or the last.

The snow covers
a delicate layer of ice.
From a far,
no one would know
what lies beneath.
Just a quiet, white field,
of freshly fallen snow.

I like the way
the ice crackles
right under my boots
just before it breaks.

At that time,
the thrill is harmless.
Merely those small,
spider web cracks.
Intruding in it's
perfect crystal floor.

But as soon as that ice
folds from under me,
I am surrounded by
a world of water
and its heavy.
Dragging me down,
to cold to handle.

Why do I chose
to walk on the ice?

I sat on your lap
while we chewed pink bubblegum.
I knew you didn't like it,
but you assured me you did.

We blew bubbles
until I knew how.
Over and over.
I made you laugh
so hard you cried.

My little arms
were wrapped tight around your neck.
I laid my head on your chest,
and I still remember
your perfect, sweet smell.

I yawned,
you stroked my head.
And you told me,
"Time to spit out the bubblegum,
and get some rest."

You carried me on your hip
up to my bed.
Although that night
all we did was chew bubblegum,
it was a night well spent.

A group of us sat behind two pine trees.
The perfect spot where the sun could greet us
but the wind could not.
I took off my sweatshirt and folded in up,
tucking it to the spot where my head would lie,
and I laid down, using it as a pillow.

I folded my hands
and let them gently rest on my stomach.
My faded tie-dye shirt baked
and my eyes squinted until they
stopped resisting the urge to shut.

For a while the conversations swirled
in and out of touch.
Catching pieces of stories
I knew I would forget later.
Every once in a while
I would open my eyes just slightly
and peak at a bright blue sky.

Time passed.
People left and people came.
But there I dozed,
next to the pine trees,
and warmed by a day.
I never wanted to get up.

It's strange

that we're scared to be afraid
it hurts to show pain
and somewhat prideful to be vain.

Wouldn't it be easier
if we weren't all so emotionally insane?

It's strange.

This morning my green tea
It gave me an epiphany
That caffeine got to me
And man was I set free.

I saw who I was
and remembered who I am.
Sometimes, that's all it takes.
Now I remember,
those Peanut Butter and Jelly days.

Thoughts.

They swim
they creep
they whisper
they speak
they distract
they attack
they advance
they mislead

This head of mine with an abnormal amount of thoughts,
intelligent, but confused, and occasionally distraught.

Rain makes me feel so much better,
content,
refreshed,
at peace,
with power,
and probably less likely to go take a shower.