I'll admit I didn't notice it
the first time I saw you
there was mystery wrapped around your fingers
and silence that sliced the air
I did not expect the flash of a helmet
I saw for that half split second
but as the hands moved on I saw a glimpse of
the warrior in you.

Tattooed on your feet
are the stars of the sea,
but you keep them hidden
in black socks and high topped rubber shoes
maybe you're scared of stepping on broken glass
you've cut yourself before, I know
but if you keep your feet sealed in
walking on familiar paths
you'll never know what it feels like
to have warm sand in between your toes
or on fresh grass, dampen your soles
don't be afraid of pain, for I know that there is
the warrior in you.

Your name means messenger.
I looked it up.
You don't say as much as the others
to me at least,
but when you do
you leave fingerprints in the air and
maybe you think that your words don't matter much
but believe me, they've planted seeds
and those seeds are growing
and your messages don't just come in
consonants and syllables, but in the way you
open doors and tap shoulders,
the way you hold your head,
hold it high, because there is
the warrior in you.

You have lived through many battles
I see it in your eyes.
I hope your heart doesn't grow heavy when
you lose one, because the war's
already been won.
Learn to trust, soldier,
you'll always need backup.
And when it seems like
dawn will never come,
I hope you'll remember
the Warrior in you.

Words
Are puzzle pieces with wings,
Stubborn,
They reside
In the creative side
Of my cluttered mind.
Their hobbies include
Floating
And being
In parts of sentences
And poems
They aren't supposed to be.
They hate cooperation
But love dressing up
In vibrant
Metaphors.
They're great as pets
Though they can be a handful.
Take them on walks,
Not with
Leashes
But with pens.
So that way,
In a park made of pages,
If they ever get lost,
At least they're
Exactly
Where they need
To be.

Over breakfast
we read the letter we wrote you
I was shaking and he
looked at me with the eyes of a child
the strong one
the Protector
he looked at me with the eyes of a child
he said,
"I never want to get over her."
Me too, Dad.

Me too.

I like the color of your sweater and the stripes on your sleeves and I especially like how the ends fray and the gray looks more like milk than it does a rainy day sky or a weatherbeaten road.

2. The reason I stepped back was not because you smelled funny, or that I was shocked to find you there, but because the air condition was hitting me right on the shoulders and I left my red sweater at home.

3. Okay, so maybe I was a bit shocked at finding you there; it’s just that you’re the first one who’s ever bothered lingering at the poetry section besides me, and I’m not good with surprises; in fact, I hate surprises.

4. But you’re a good kind of surprise.

5. I like your glasses. I used to have a pair just like them before someone removed them and told me that I should learn to see differently. Things have been kind of unclear since then, but I’m learning how to hold onto the side rails.

6. I hope you’ll let me remove yours, too.

7. Your hair looks like a bird’s nest. I wonder if you’re hiding life or pieces of green bottle in there. That’s a lovely shade of brown, by the way. I’ve never seen chocolate curls before.

8. Do you think that if a pine wants to, it will grow until its branches poke holes in the sky for stars and pinecones to fall out so we can catch them in our palms and compare who got the most scratches and who caught the most stardust?

9. The book you picked up happens to be my favorite. If you turn to page 118 you’ll find a poem about churning seas, angry thunderclouds, and a drifting boat that lost its sail.

10. I think I finally found my sail.

Please, I've forgotten
how to hold a pen, she said.
Those were the words that
convinced me to write a letter
from a stranger to a stranger.
So this is a message to you
from her.

She's asking how you're doing.
She wonders if the stars are brighter where you are.
You know,
there's a meteor shower coming
in a few weeks' time, she's
she's asking if you knew, and if
you'd watch it with her at eleven in the evening the Saturday after the next
so she'd feel like you were right there beside her
pointing out which streak held the most brilliant color
and if you're asking,
she's doing fine.

She's wondering if you know
how silkworms spin silk,
because a friend asked her the other day
she didn't know how to reply except by telling herself
that you would've known, so
how do they spin silk?
Let me know as soon as possible, she says
my friend wants to know.
But I think she's asking that as an excuse to hear your voice
but also because she really wants to know
how silkworms spin silk
and if you think jade is the nicest kind of green
or if you prefer hiking or swimming
if you agree that innocence is just untested character
and if you're asking,
she's longing for answers.

She's hoping you don't think of her,
and she's hoping you do.
She wants me to tell you that
she wants you to remember
but she wants you to forget the pain,
so might as well forget everything
because hurt is the price of loving someone.
She confesses that she's tried to stop
writing about you
but every time she sits down to
write her soul into words
your memory slips in and dances off her pages
and she tries to stop it
and if you're asking,
she's trying to find ways to make thinking about you easier.

According to her,
she's quieter now
not just her mouth but her feet,
her hair
her eyes
her spirit
Look at what you've done, she says.
I

I've always been a terrible liar.
Please, I've forgotten
how to hold a pen.