I.
a calm darkened room, curtains drawn
outside, the sky is crying-- its tears
slamming white noise on our rooftop
there is a mattress and blue cotton sheets,
a cloud for a comforter and two bodies
clasped together like refrigerator magnets
as icons dance on the screen of our
static television minds

II.
here we are again, hands intertwined within
the streets of Rome, ivy crawling across
yellow edifice recollections, Italian
sun scorching her liquid tongue upon
our baking shoulders-- home
is across the Atlantic, a plane in the sky,
my head on your chest as a passport
to a place forever engraved on our eyelids
and in photographs where love
never fades with time


III.
our hometown has our hearts memorized,
the coffee shop at the corner where past
Augusts had melted our whipped drinks
into fumbling infatuation, the trees
we kiss madly against, the empty grass fields
that know the shape of our spines as
we gaze up, fingers tracing wispy trails
of our blue sky canvas

IV.
do you see that cloud? the giant one near the sun;
what does it look like to you?
like you, like you,
like proof that God adores me.

They sat on a yellow couch,
That smelled strongly of moth *****,
And that had thick, dull brass buttons
In rows of eight and nine across the seating.
And the birthday party continued on
In the living room mostly,
But also in the kitchen and out on
The back porch.

The little yellow couch sat
In a small, awkward hallway
Between the dining room and kitchen,
And it took three minutes for any party goers
To interrupt them.

Her name was Alice then.
When she turned thirty-eight she changed it
To Alma.
His name was and is Robert.
He wore brown shorts that day.

Her hair was curled, for the occasion.
He asked her if she liked strawberry cake.
She said she didn't.
He laughed and said he'd eat her slice.
She said she wouldn't mind.
She reached out and held his hand.
He let her.
Until the girl walked through.
And they ooed and awwed at Alice and Robert.
And then they giggled themselves into the living room.
And Robert, almost twelve, looked at Alice
And thought, "She is beautiful".
And he said, "See you around," and walked into the kitchen.

And Alice thought,
"Maybe I will try strawberry cake."

I have never believed in the principles of physics because they do not apply to girls like me. Girls who disobey Newton's straight-mouthed rules with scarlet leaps of blind faith, girls with hopes soaring past our pastel heavens, never weighed down by any mystical force of gravity measured by dead men. The audacity of the physicist's rotten rules anchoring themselves into thick velvet skin-- as if to stifle the daydreams that keep twirling unpredictably even if acted upon by an unbalanced force. There is no way to silence my momentum, I will keep blooming-- slender hands outstretched toward the flickering sun, past all of the white numerical lies and formulaic cages that ache to confine me. What a perfect contradiction, that a soft-spoken girl can rise at the break of Einstein's miscalculated morning, illuminating the sky with the poetry of her defiance.

She, who loves gracefully without friction. She, whose bones cannot be broken by the laws of heat. She, who keeps herself warm when the cold mathematical wrath of their graves fails to keep her quiet.

.
Stop looking at me so sad
I'm okay
I'm breathing fine
.
Stop looking at me so sad
I'm fine
The sun always did shine
.
Stop looking at me so sad
My mind's right
No need to be taken aback
.
Stop looking at me so sad
.
I am fine