Is it possible to be jealous of the future?
Of the people you will meet
that will make your dimples grow deeper?
Of the places you will see without me,
the pieces of pizza you will eat?
Of the new shoes you will pick out
and the dinner party you wear them to?
Of the girl you meet there,
who's laugh you'll like so much
that you'll forget about mine?
Of the dinners you cook
and the hikes you go on.
The adventures you'll have,
the drives, the movies,
the nights spent asleep,
the kisses?
The kisses.

momma doesn't understand
daddy doesn't ask
why she stopped taking
her little white pills
"they'll save you"
everybody says as if
they know what
saving feels like.
how could she possibly explain
she wants her highest highs
even when they
make her want
to die

write me a story that begins with
the light blue sheets that you lay your muscled body upon,
let it travel to the first thought in your head
and the taste of your spearmint toothpaste,
let it tell me about your blueberry pancakes or sugary cereal
and the breeze off of the lake that tickles your shaggy blonde hair,
let it show me the worry lines in your forehead
and the troubles with your father,
let it tell me of the girl that made you laugh
with her freckled nose that reminded you of me,
let it tell me of your struggles and your pleasures and your pain,
let it tell me about the sun that burns your skin
the world that you see through your blue green eyes
the liquor that kisses your lips,
let it tell me of your heart and your mind and all of the everything
that exists in your being
write me this story so that i may be jealous of your sheets and your father     and the sun and blueberry pancakes,
for they are graced with the wildness of your presence
in the story of your life