Remember when we'd roller blade
and ***** about our moms?
And in summer we would
swim in caves
and scrape our feet on rocks.

Curled on the shower floor
we'd find crooked cuts
and blue bruise lines.
We'd say they were all accidents.
We'd say the other lied.

And when we laughed,
we laughed too hard.
and when you cried I cried.
We'd both say we were
scared to die.
When on the graves we'd lie.

Three days before you left
you called me beautiful,
which you never do.
One week before you left
you said, I love you so much
its insane.
Three months before you left
we fought about everything
two people could ever think of.
One year before you left
I lay drunk in your arms.
People joked that we were in love
like they always did.
Like we always did.

Grandpa's dead
we get his shed.
Mom says we'll load
it in the truck.
Maple helicopter seeds
spin down gracefully
but his plane; no such luck.
The sun too goes down
while mother's brothers frown
and she leads the sorting crew.
On a tin roof I watch
while hunched adults haul
in hay field three feet tall.
Where Gramp's plane fell
dad prays he's resting well
but I think Mom thinks
he's in hell.

I swung from trees
on homemade knots
to kiss you on the cheek.
While you built rotten tables
and we grew up to be thieves.
You told me you would build our house
when from mine we would sneak.
You said you'd fix the broken boat
in the field where we would meet.
Campfires dulled the stars
but it was the only light we'd need.
We both kept our virginity
too scared to even sleep.
You called me beautiful and perfect
even though I wouldn't eat.
Your dad always cut your hair short
but you knew I liked it curly.


Wind blown hair from dusty drives
getting lost on winding roads.
I never listened to your jokes
and we never stole the boat.

The dogs dug tunnels
under the porch.
Sometimes we dug with them.
Constructing architecture wonders
in the k-9 and 8 year old world.
In these catacombs they birthed
dusty puppies and in the
dark dirt they rotted back to earth.
Eldest brother dug in the backyard.
Said close your eyes,
hold your breath until you get there.
Past Earth's core to China,
we crossed our arms and jumped.
The dogs kept scratching tunnels,
long after we ran off.
Looking back,
maybe they were trying
to dig their way out
like we were.

It started on the drive home.
The new car wash in town
was having a grand opening.
Laughing people eating sloppy Joe
while matching faces in red t-shirts beamed,
their hands full of sopping sponges.
I turned and the words spilled out
after one soft spoken drip.
I wish my family owned a car wash together.
Or a stand at the farmers market together.
I imagined barefooted children
helping old women carry watermelons.
I wish we were the type of family to
own a diner together,
and I'd serve on roller skates.
The flood from eyes and mouth began.
Or own a roller rink, with theme nights on Tuesdays.
Or a gas station, or a drive in movie theater.
I couldn't stop.
I wish we owned a family farm
and took silly photos in muddy overalls
after five AM breakfasts together.
Or ran a summer camp, or an antique shop.
I wish we were the kind of family
that walked 5k's for a cure.
Each confession slammed shut with together.
Each dissolved into the air
like a child's dream to walk on stars.

My mom was always planting ivy
In the valleys of our yard.
She said it was to keep the rain
From washing the earth away.
To keep it all anchored down.
She hoped it would grow over the years
Swallowing the whole house.
But she tried to tie the wrong things.
Because the earth never washed away,
The house never floated off.
If I had known
I would have told her
To wrap those vines around herself.