i have come a long way.

old days and young days became one and the same,
feeling prodded with those saccharine persuasive words dripping off your tongue,
i hid from my future and your past.

i entertain the thought now
that i take pride in the legacy of my grandparents,
in the foundation laid by my family,
and in the quietly powerful strength
of you.

does blowing bubbles in boba tea just make it bubble tea squared?

i am flooded,
swamped,
up to my neck.

how come every metaphor to do with having oodles of work conjours images of my fluttering hands, framed in a deathly silence over a languidly receding ray glimmering, glaring, off the waves ?

you were funny and pretty
danced to ****** pop music like the whole pool wasn't watching
rested your arm on my shoulder and dared me to challenge you on it
wore sunglasses as strikingly blue as your eyes
taught me basketball with a peeling ball and disintegrating net
got my naive, slow heart racing faster than it has in years
talked to me like we'd known each other years longer, instead of the five hour shift you picked up at my pool

so i did what i had to and told myself you spoke to everyone like that; used everyone as an arm rest like that; showed everyone sports like that.

i am not special to you.
but you were to me.

you were sick a long time

i didn't really get that
i was in seventh grade

we drove all the way up to maryland for what was supposed to be the last thanksgiving, but i didn't know that

and apparently you didn't want that
because then you got taken off of hospice care.

who gets taken off of hospice care?
no one, that's who.

i didn't really get that
i was still in seventh grade

we rented a beach house like we used to do
all the cousins and aunts and uncles

and you
still sick

but still you.
you had your boomerangs and your piece of driftwood with the shells messily superglued to it (it matches mine) and your mo oatmeal that somehow tasted so much better than normal oatmeal.

it was really nice.
i enjoyed it a lot.

i don't know why i thought you'd just keep getting better
maybe part of me was still in seventh grade

you lasted a long long time
i was proud of you

i grew up a lot
but i think a piece of me will always be in seventh grade

because three days before my birthday i couldn't really believe what i was hearing

not really
it didn't seem like reality

i finished my cereal
and rinsed out my dishes

walked upstairs
closed my door

sat down on my bed
and then i don't know how long i cried.

i think i'd be okay
if i was still in seventh grade.

but now i'm here and it's been four months
and i'm not.

i wish i had the courage to say
the acidic words i mumble under my breath,
like a coward
(like him).

i wish i could throw them in his face
watch it melt.
watch it burn.

the scarred figures of a snake
remain recognizable,
and it is all i can do
to hope i have not gleefully razed
a mirror image.