If I'm swallowed by the sea and my heart
ceases to beat,
I'd have you know a thing or two about me.
Tell my mother and my brothers that
they colored up my life,
and be sure that my poor father knows the same.
Be sure my father knows the way
I tried for him most every day,
and when my mother starts to cry won't you won't you
comfort her?

Tell the boy I love all the times I almost told him
And hold my best friend's hand when they pull me from the ocean.
Read the notebooks in my room
Laugh at what I thought of you
Give the gods and all the angels my regard.
Smile when you see a bird
wheeling in the rain,
and think of me when you think that spring won't ever come again.
My father's only daughter who is so scared of the water
will dance with you when you're asleep and dreaming.
I'll see you when you wash your face to rid yourself of my ingrace
And I'll hold you when you bend, begin to scream.

pining and finger-twisting;
watch me weak with wanting you.
your golden-haired laughter,
and your soft-crinkling eyes
  do they read the words behind me
    (three of them, overused but
   achingly true)?
haven't you heard?
well, i won't spoil it, but
they're spilling over, so i'd
brace yourself, if i were

you.

you got serious, talking about a girl
we both know.
you said, "she is not special," shaking your head,
and i nodded.
i fell in love with you then, the stars in your eyes
and the one dimple in your cheek,
the not-serious gravity
of the way you talk.
you joking
mischievous
and clever boy.

you look at me sometimes, thoughtfully
just looking
in a way that makes my hands shake
and my heart rabbit-tap against my ribs
(so loud, i'm sure you can hear it).

i am pining, i am pensive.

the next time i see you, my pretty boy,
i refuse to stand in the hallway next to you
while everyone talks about what a great time they had
or lay on the floor next to your chair while you explain
some war game to me, that you're not half as serious about
as every other guy on the planet.
the next time i see you i will plop down on the couch next to you,
shoulder to shoulder,
and i'll talk to you, lightly, about how
i'm not sure
if you like me.
i'm not sure
if you like anyone.
and i think you probably do like me,
and that i
definitely
like you.
"so i think,
we should hang out sometime
or something." and then maybe i'll get up and move away again,
or sit there with you.
maybe i'll plant a little kiss on your cheek,
or put my head on your shoulder,
or just sit there with you.
maybe when we leave
i'll smile at you like i always do,
but i'll also make my way through the ocean of our families
and hug you tight enough that they'll all finally stop bugging me.
maybe i'll do that.

where have all the words gone?
they burst through my fingers
they pull and they push at me.
they would be seen
they would pull from our souls the essence of our humanity
and they would string into the most stupendous
and riveting stories.

I wish I felt original
I wish that I was brave.

My life is belly-laughs and hiccuppy tears
and I don't know what to do with it.
I feel things too much
or not at all
And I wish I could write about something other than myself

for once.

the first time i felt afraid of death
was when i thought there wasn't anything
that i would be gone, without eyes, without breath, without heart.
i thought of seeing nothing
feeling nothing
being nothing
and i felt afraid.
now i'm not saying i believe in heaven
and i am not saying i don't
but i do believe
in the vivacity
tenacity
audacity of souls
and i believe that mine
will fight
to the finish.