I used to be a poet
But then I killed myself
I used to read fine literature
But then I lost the shelf
I used to be an actress
But then I overdosed
I used to dance ballet
And I used to tell good jokes
I used to be a painter,
Before my fingers broke.
I used to be a Christian
Before everything fell
Now I don’t believe in Satan
So I’ll be seeing you in hell
I used to breathe oxygen
Before my lungs filled up with steel
Sometimes I would hear music
Until I learned it wasn’t real
I used to cut my wrists
Until I learned I’d never heal
I used to be a lizard
Before my second life
I used to be a mother
And once I was a wife
I just drank some poison
But trust me I won’t leave
I’m solid, I’m a rock
I’m as strong as I’ll ever

Our house smells like paint
of five different colors.
We can't get the cats trained.
Call your mom, say I love her.
Hey babe while you were working
I cleaned off the sky light.
The roof is still leaking,
but at least we see stars at night.
And the grass grows high
because we're too poor to mow
and we laugh all night
acting out the trees we know.
You put my socks on for me
and I show you new dance moves.
You teach me about edible leaves,
and you help me find my shoes.
We can't afford to fix the floor
So honey let's go for a swim.
Babe the cat is at the door,
he'll howl till he gets in.
And you've been joking all June
that you're going to teach me how to cook
But hey, I can make my favorite foods.
You say we might have ginseng,
I say let's go check the woods.

Is everything we are
who we are when we're four?
To laugh and to learn
and to always want more?
Is this what it is
to be nothing but nine?
To have dreams and worries
but know you have time?
Is this how feels to be only fourteen?
To be talking all day
but no one hears a **** thing?
Then is this what it means to be seventeen?
To have plans and dreams
Though you haven't started a thing?
And is this what it is to be twenty one?
to have all this time,
yet feel as though there's none?
So are we these people
from the start to the end?
The same or different
or some kind of blend?

I had never visited before.
On the drive over I imagined her name
carved in Helvetica on the stone.
Birth date- death date.
Would her picture be on there?
Would the names of her grandchildren
cover the back?
My eyes strained to keep the well from spilling over.
I found her in the Catholic section.
The rest of her family buried elsewhere.
A small gray stone with nothing,
except her last name on the back.
And a simple explanation
of her existence on the front.
There were no angel statues.
Only one sun faded bouquet of plastic pink flowers.
Nothing else.
Nothing to show that she was loved
and that her life mattered.
Nothing to show how much her being here
had changed everything for me.
July 19, 1948-Sept 4, 2008
That's all.
Her entire life amounted to a two foot
un-mowed concrete block.
I felt her body rotting beneath me.
I sat cross legged, staring at the only evidence
that she was ever real at all.
This is what it had all come down to.
I had never visited before.

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.

I am driving.
Driving and listening to a song
About a flower that wished it was a tree,
And a raccoon climbs on my shoulder.
To my left there is a woman
Pulled to the side of the road.
Her face is flushed red
As she wipes off a white wooden cross
With a white wash rag,
And changes the flowers.
And I’m driving,
The raccoon is chewing on my hair,
And I’m wondering
How I’m going to find her a place
That she’ll be okay.
So I say it out loud.
“How will I find her a home?”
The song plays in the background
And I wonder who I even mean.
I think about the sad boy
From the bus stop a few days ago.

We’re all exposed beating hearts
On this beating heart we call home.
Our needs and motivations,
Radiate with every beat.
Whether we are looking or not.
Whether we help or not.
And we put up these walls
In our lives or in our minds.
But the separation we create
Is just an idea that gives
Power to entitlement and loneliness.
Despite what we tell ourselves,
We are not a single flower
Growing in a raised bed among others.
But rather a petal on a morning glory
That grows in a tangle of squash
And Virginia creeper.
Always growing, and intertwining.
Side by side.
On top and below.
From humans to nature,
From humans to humans
There are no distinctions
That are not manmade.
The lady by the road,
The raccoon, and me
Are all one singular life.
And not only in this
Suspended moment.

Honey, when winter comes
your mom will cry a lot.
Because the earth is frozen and dead,
and her body hurts.
She will sleep longer
and grow spindly indoor vegetables.
But sweetie, in the spring
your mom will sing in the kitchen.
She'll take you camping when its too cold,
and kayaking in the rain.
She'll refer to everything as a beautiful lady
and rhyme your name with plants.
Because the earth is pulsing blood again
your mom will dance on the furniture with you.
She'll take you on walks to feel moss
and tree heartbeats.
And baby, in the summer
your mom will yell a lot.
Because its too hot
and she wants to build a tree house for you.
But the yard always needs mowed
and her hands are always swollen.
And the time just passes too fast
that she'll rush like a flooded river.
Then darling in the fall
she'll tell story after story after story
about growing up on dusty trails
and swimming in thunderstorms.
Then when she's quiet
she'll grow too quiet.
She'll rake the leaves though we don't rake.
She'll run her hand along old furniture.
She'll press leaves and say
you're just like so-and-so
when they were small like you.
She'll smile out the window on car rides.
She'll cry at funny movies.
Its important to be patient,
She's a moon with many phases.

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.

This is what I remember:
The planks leaned against the wall
would fall if we weren't careful
Tarzan swinging on the frayed black snakes
that coiled around the beams
because if they could still power florescents  
no one ever told us.
We shattered the old windows stacked in the briers
to make our new home shimmer
when we set the hay ablaze
because if they were going to use them for the house
no one ever told us.
We heard dad call the
pit of snakes insulation
but we killed them all with shovels,
couldn't risk it.
Never knowing the real snakes
were slipping under the front door
and though big brothers might have known
we were fighting the wrong war
no one ever told us.
Or maybe we don't remember
when you said to be careful in the barn
but to go ahead and play out there
and not to hurry home.

You looked at me
My heart kicked up
My breath picked up
My eyes lit up
You kissed my cheek
And my eyes dropped shut
Undeniable lust
My heart kicked up

Henry got sent to reform school
after throwing a brick in the neighbors pool.
Got kicked back home at seventeen.
Kicked his brothers any time he pleased.
Taught girls to love him on faded back seats.
Kept reminding his brothers the world can be mean.
Dad punched him in the face,
that's the last we ever saw him.
Saw his brothers last week,
said they missed him, said they'd call him.

Ryan rattled his name like an electric hum
said he never cried, with his mouth around his thumb.
Face covered in freckles, with shifty beady eyes.
Rode the bus one morning with those freckles turned to lines.
He'd hold your hand if you let him
and remind you that he's fine.

Mikey always wanted to spend the night with us.
We told him we were busy from the backseat of the bus.
He said we were his best friends,
could he help our mom around the house?
We told her when he knocked
to tell him we were out.

Last we heard Mike's still working
in the hog barns down the road.
Ryan can't still be five
and I hope Henry's grown old.

Love is when you
watch a horror movie
with your brother
and you hate them,
but he asked you,
and you're hoping
you'll hold hands
like you did when
you were younger.
Love is when you
spend Sunday at the market,
with your mom
without her asking
because you said no
too many times when you were fifteen
but now you wish she'd ask again.
And love is other things too.
Like when you share a blanket
because there is only one,
and you don't mention that
your feet stick out,
because you're hoping he is warm.
And love is when you smile
though you're scared.
So that they feel brave.
Because you can't change the dark of night.
And love is when
Your arm falls asleep
And you want to move
But you don't because
They are sleeping on your shoulder.
Love is being steady
when you want to fall apart.
And love is sacrifice,
without ever asking why.

Love seems to be
the only thing
I ever feel.
Whether it be heartbreak
or sprouting of new love.
It seems to marinate
in every bit I write.

And now
you put that all to shame.
I wish
I had never scrawled of love
before I learned your name.
I wish I had never before
Told tales of love and pain.
If it were up to me
My first written word would be your name.
Because ever since I've loved you babe
nothing has been the same.

If I could have it my way,
every kiss that ever left my lips
would be passed directly off to you.
If I had my say on things,
From the start
I'd have you every day.


Love seems to be
the only thing
I feel when I see you.
I want to compare you
to the most beautiful sounds
that ever soothed the earth.
Or the coolest water,
such as that as that cliff
where you took me,
on what should have been
our last day.

But you are better
than anything I can think
better than this
horrible explanation
better than any
love I have ever felt
for anything.
You are my everything.
I'm sorry I can't tell you.

I see wrong.
I see right.
I saw crying
and I saw fights.
Mom loves money.
Dad loved life.
I see wrong,
and I see right.
Mom raised us
and dad was gone.
I see right,
and I see wrong.
Kids pick sides
as time moves on,
but I see right,
and I see wrong.

We stopped joking about keeping you
When things got really scary.
We were twenty.
We were students.
We were poor.
And we had dreams to travel the world.
In our pretend life we could make it work.
I was prolife as a teenager.
But things weren't that simple after.
I put off taking the test for weeks.
Dreading the inevitable, you.
But when the strip turned pink
I smiled.
Just that once.
Just to myself.
Then the hard mask of terror took over.
The next few weeks were a blur.
We made the right choice.
But that doesn't mean I didn't love you.

Join us!
Join us!
We think you'll like our mission!
We're looking for new members
in the sad girl coalition!
We prefer girls with anxiety
and an affinity for plants.
Feminist views a must,
and a willingness to dance.
Gear needed to fit in here:
a rescue cat, a hammock,
an emotionally damaged cactus,
yoga, knitting, hula hooping,
or some other quirk you practice.
Duties are quite simple;
Defend your girls in online rants
about the current state of the nation.
Comment, "love the yoga pants!"
when a sister nails a headstand.
Click love instead of like
when a member shares the anthem
and keep adding to the ranks
of the sad girl coalition!

It starts as an after school snack
you share a bag with your brothers.
But things change as you grow,
soon you're eating a whole bag.
Soon its not just a snack
but a meal.
Its not long before you're eating
the kernels too.
At first you try to chew them,
but soon its better to just swallow them whole.
Then you're using your thumbnail
to scrape the butter off of the bag.
It takes forty five minutes,
but you eat all of it.
That doesn't last long before
you're ripping up the bag
and licking the buttery insides.
From there its a slippery *****
and before you know it you're chewing
strips of the buttery bag like gum.
Then one day you do it.
You swallow,
and its not great but its not so bad.
So that's your breakfast from now on,
a bag of popcorn.

I could not ever
write a phrase about you
that wouldn't be a lie.
At least not if I ever
intended to show you.
No that wouldn't be right.
Because then you'd know
loud and clear
that you're the type of guy.
That drives me so ******* crazy
I want to stab out your eyes.
And no not in a cute way.
Please stop ******* talking.
We were never ever together
So please God keep on walking.

He said, I miss you,
and that was enough.
Enough to untangle
all that I had *******.
Three words from his mouth
with ridiculous intensity
Feverishly unearthing
everything I had worked to bury.
Come back to me.
My body stiffened against the plea.
After all my time begging.
It was you who was missing me.

I used to write about you all of the time.
I used to think about you all of the time.
I used to talk about you all of the time.
Then one day I read through
my old journals.
And I realized I was always
writing about the way things used to be.
So maybe its not you I'm hung up on.
Its just the used-to-be's.
And I'd like to think maybe
I'm getting a little old for that stuff.

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.

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.

You emailed me three times.
I ignored it.
I was thirteen and considered myself very busy.
Repeated empty and un-kept promises
Were my most recent words to you.
I would come by when I got a chance.
There was so much time,
I was just having trouble finding it lately.
I seem to have found the time.
But you aren’t going to email me back.

Green little brother
throwing up because
he's too drunk
and he cut his hand,
never been brave with blood.

Green to buy greens
asking brother what he means.
Grass stained pants from mowing yards.
Been buying grass, been working hard.

Green grass, brother
do you remember being home?
The way dad let the fields grow
are the blades still tall as we are?
Let's go back so we can know.

You make me want to write
stupid little poems
about how you wash my hair
better than I do.
Or about how I can't sleep
when I'm without you.
Or about how sometimes
you carry me wherever we're going to.
Because I guess,
I think its pretty cool.
And you're pretty cool.
And this is all sort of magic.
But that doesn't mean
it makes good poems.
But like everything
in my life, my notebook
is filled with you.

You shook,
While I shivered.
I talked,
And you whispered.
Then you left,
But I didn't.
And I tried,
Though you'd finished.

Its interesting because
the girls were wearing sunglasses in the dark.
They thought it was funny
and it made them feel brave.
And though they were sitting
they felt bigger than the boys
who shuffled awkwardly by the open door,
with their hands in their pockets.
When they would leave
the girls would laugh that
they had probably never
stayed out past eleven.
Probably only had a sip of
dad's beer at a wedding.
They're so lame they laughed,
waking up early for soccer practice.
The boys looked down at the girls
sitting in dusty lawn chairs in the garage
sipping stale beers they stole
from a mother who had too many.
One laughed but it was hostile.
One laughed but it was nervous.
They couldn't believe the barefooted one
with bruised shins was skipping practice.
The team captain rolled her eyes.
What squares. What losers.
This is what young and happy looks like.

God isn't in the church, boys.
Can't find him on your cross.
We looked in all religions
even scoured cathedral halls.
God isn't our father
and he never was a son.
Well, in one way I suppose
our creator actually was.
God, she's in our sunlight.
She's in the air we breathe.
You'll find your God inside of you.
You'll find your God in trees.

Sometimes I sit still
and feel the air on the insides of my arms.
I feel the warmth of the sunlight
that reflects off my skin.
I listen to the breeze
that winds through the trees
and through me as well.
I am the same as them.
In the distance I hear birds
and the trickle of water.
They are the same as me.

Later when I leave this rock
things will speed back up,
My muscles and mind straining to keep up,
wearing myself thin
at the end of everyday.
Life is a game that way.
But sometimes I just sit still.

The dirt road stained the car.
I normally drove but this time
she sat with her left foot curled beneath her.
Her free and bare foot barely touching the pedal.
Left arm dangling out the window,
while her right clung loosely to the wheel.
And she talked.
"That was the house my parents built.
My mom was supposed to get it but he kept it.
That is the church my dad was
going to marry her in.
But she's crazy, she'll never marry him.
This is the lake where I was going to build my
house when I grew up and married him.
But I didn't do that,
and it looks like someone bought it anyway."
And she laughed.
"This is where we always planned on skinny dipping.
But we were too scared until we were too old.
This is where my brother was supposed to marry my best friend.
But they are both on drugs now.
This is where he and I would swim and talk,
and he told me he would marry me.
I hear he is getting deployed to Texas
and that he got a tattoo across his shoulders."
Sometimes she would just drive,
Her eyes on something in the distance.
Because some of them weren't for me.
The place where she nearly drown.
The place her brother gave up on her.
When maybe she should have given up on him.
The last place she saw the first friend she ever had.
"Sometimes I think I should have stayed."
But she knows better.
And the gravel wound cornfields for miles.
And she talked,
and she laughed.

When I was young
My mother painted
My grandmother as distant
And preoccupied with trivial matters.
A woman who could never
Even if she were interested
Understand me.
“That’s just Grandma Mary.”
We could roll our eyes together
After opening the pink dress or sewing kit
She had sent me in the mail.
“That’s just how she is.”
My mother would sigh.
But as I grew I came to realize,
I’m not distant and uncomprehendable.
The only thing that kept
My grandmother from understanding me
Was years of space.
The picture my mother had been painting
Was never of me and my grandma,
But instead of my mother
And her mother.

People thought I moved there
To spend more time with my father
But I moved in to be alone.
So we were just alone together
In the skeleton of what used to
Be our happy family.
He would drink beer
And I would sit on the floor of my room.
He said good night to me every night.
And made me breakfast in the mornings.
Two eggs always. Never failed.
Half of the time I threw them away.
He never said anything when
I tracked in mud,
Or stayed out late.
And he never mowed the yard
Or cleaned the bathroom.
We never cleaned anything.
We never did anything.
Our family’s stuff was piled everywhere,
And they were everywhere but here.
I probably spoke twelve words that whole year.
When I moved out my father told me
He would miss me terribly.

I proved myself right.
Not that it matters.
Its not what I wanted.
Now there's no locking eyes,
half a decade later
we're still ******* haunted.
Still disappointed,
though I thought I was helping
you were berated, endlessly taunted.
So then yeah it happened.
It happened, you ****** up
because all my comments.
And yes I still love you,
and yes I'm still proud.
But its not what we wanted.
I should have been more supportive,
instead of always reminding
that this world is so daunting.
Should have been more there for you
should have helped you get through it
instead of mindlessly talking.
And now that we're older,
I'd love to sit and talk this over.
Not that you've offered.

Why is everything always about money with you?
My best friend asks as we lean out
over the railing of the tattered tree house
my mom built before she left.
I'm offering to jump for fifteen dollars.
We are eleven years old and the summer heat
is turning us into real *******.
I tilt my head backwards to see the earth upside down
there are rusted bikes and shattered plastic buckets
splashed green from when we used to mow and faded from the sun.
There are walnuts and sticks that look like warty spears.
About twenty feet from the intended landing zone
a possum rots in the laser light slipping through the dark maple canopy.
Two days ago I bet the gang I would kiss it.
A breeze warms and cools us at the same time,
wafting the possum stench as we wave with it.
The support beams are rotting.
Last week we spray painted the worst spots
pink and green and dark purple.
We wrote our names too.
Sometimes we save our quarters for new wood.
Sometimes we laugh and smash the bowing boards.
Do termites love each other?
The neighbor girl told me they're going to Disney Land,
and last summer her dad bought her a second pony.
I have more dogs but no one's impressed.
I'm not actually sure that's a possum.
The horse broke its leg a few years back.
Mom tried to burn him but
Mr. Graber says animals are 70% water.
We picked through the bones until briers took over.
My shirt is stretched out in the neck
with a graphic of an 80's cartoon I've never heard of.
I'm not joking when I call it a hand-me-sixth.
As though I'd taken the jump
the wind is knocked right out of me.
I realize I've been staring.
I mean it to come out brave and angry but it comes as a squeak,
because I don't have any.
Because we don't have any.

I'll always remember it raining
Though it only rained the one time.
We left the door open as it pounded down.
You picked me up when you kissed me,
because you could do that.
You always helped me with my shirt
but handled yours yourself.
And the rain splashed down
on to that old wooden house.
And the only light in the hall
was from the gray of the storm.
We always talked on our trips there.
Big dreams about how we would paint her.
Once we graduated college and you got the job.
And this would be our room,
and we'd put a rug upstairs.
And you would hold me against the wall and kiss me.
And the rain would come down,
sounding like a train on the tin roof.
Our hair on our arms stood against
the static of the storm
and the cool breeze it brought,
and the warmth of our hands.
And when it stopped, and we stopped
we would emerge into the previously submerged world.
Always knowing we'd be back,
always knowing this was home.
Our little farm house in the rain storms.

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.

If Earth is living,
Breathing, and growing
Just like you and I.
Then it should not be
Sad, scary, or silly
To know that someday
She must die.

When things go okay enough
you never have to embarrass your mom
by letting her know that she messed up.
Things weren't that perfect,
but they weren't that ****** up.
Or maybe they were,
but you're still being tough.

I'm leaving you honey.
Yeah there's no other way to say it.
Yes, because I'll never be with you honey.
**** its hard to say it.
I'm leaving you honey.
Do you need me to explain it?
Its a sad kind of funny, honey
because we never really named it.
I'm leaving you honey,
hardest thing I'll ever do.
Spend some time with me honey,
one last time let me love you.

Fast acting, long lasting
Its smashing!
Girl with no more options.
Animal tests,
Lumps on the *******.
No not on the ads,
We’re selling ***.
Two for the money.
A truck and a honey.
What are we buying?
We’re buying ***.
A girl home for the day
Finds a soft spot to lay,
Take off her shirt
But leaves on her jeans.
However,
Its more than erections,
The scheming perfection
Of using each other
To bolster our greed.
In more than one boardroom
There are people debating
Do we want groom and groom
Or the bride to be black?
The intern will chime in
That “going green” is “in”
And we’ll all ******* buy them
2% recycled handy wipes.
Because our eyes are vacuums
They will always have room
To take in more *******
That falls in our lines.
We watch their commercials
And yes, they’re tear jerkers.
A one legged child
Raised by two Asian guys.
SO WE BUY THE DISH SOAP!
THEYV’E SOLD US!
We did it!
We filled up our carts,
In the store and online.
We swallowed it all up,
Leaving plastic behind.
WE DID IT!
We all worked as a team
To fuel the
Capitalist Dream.
A fabricated human connection
Forged between man and corporation.
We’ve done it folks.
The American Dream.
People against people
All working as a team.

Well, at least for all those who have eyes.

It almost feels as though you were never here.
Probably because you were never here.

We would sit on the steps of the porch
so the sun would warm our legs but spare our eyes.
She would peel potatoes and I would ask her,
where she got that scar
how many boyfriends she has had
how many bones she has broken
if her heart had ever been torn
and how many times and by who
and what was the worst cut she had ever had.
"I don't know Kels. That was all a long time ago."
That always seemed like ******* to me.
How could you not know many people
you have let touch your lips with theirs?
But then I grew.
I grew and I got scraped, and burned
and broken over and over.
I had my heart stolen
and I gave it away again and again.
Every experience just stacked against the other.
So I guess I kind of get what she was saying now.

When did kissing you
become like putting my lips
to a cool glass of water on a hot day?
Natural and easy,
almost as though
I had never done it at all.
And when did running
my hands along your skin
begin to feel as though I were
clutching my own arms
to keep warm
on an unseasonably cool day?
At what point did it become less clear
where the lines of your shell end
and mine begin?
Was it when we first collided?
Or is this a fusion laced time?
Have I been classically conditioned
to confuse your body with mine?
How did we grow
from tentatively holding hands
to kissing thighs or spines
with no shiver of uncertainty?
How is it that
even when our embrace ends
I know we are still connected?
Locked together by some magnetic force.
A kiss our souls need no rest from.
How is it that I blended and melted
and molded into you?
And even more perplexing
when did this all begin?
Was is when? Was it when?

Had I known they were weeds
would I have hated the reeds
that snaked up from the mud floor
changing pond to snarling sea?
Would I have hated the green vines
that wrapped around the gates?
Deemed the yellow flowers ugly,
and despised their honey taste?
Would I have declined the grape vines
that offered Tarzan Swings?
Would I have shushed all the starlings,
and let the cardinals sing?
Would I have ever listened
if told these lives were bad?
Could I have understood
these vines were not to have?
Thrown over the fences
and climbing cabin walls
as a little girl
its hard to tell these things are wrong.

I liked how it used to be.
When I was you,
And you were me.
I loved the ways
We sometimes talked.
Like you were older,
Or I was mom.
I envied the way,
That you would always claim.
That nothing’s forever,
And this will be okay.

You don’t talk that way anymore.
But I still believe you.
The consequences of me becoming me,
And you being you.

I started praying
the day the jack fell
when were both under the car.
The way you screamed
No! No! No!
But everything was fine
stayed with me long after
our kids grew tall.
The way everything was fine
while the kids watched in silence.
So I prayed at night
when you were sleeping,
so you wouldn't tease me.
I whispered thank you to the soil
when we turned the gardens each spring.
I kissed thank you's
into the leaves when it rained.
Thank you's to the earth
for growing you.
Tall and strong.
An oak with broad roots
keeping you grounded.
Lacing us together,
splitting us into new life.
Anchoring you to me.
How could I not pray thank you.