When I hear a concealed clock ticking,
I think it's some shouldered past jello grenade
ready to chastise my fletched thumbs.

Like the last time Sandman drew supper with his knees,
and decided to fling cherry cobbler at my nose,
I realized this homeless perfume actually belonged to Mother.

Her pearls redeem her complexion,
milk marrow of silk against her nose--
three strikes dawdling their tongues
from underneath tin necks.

Steady, rinse, exfoliate:
but those are difficult to do
when your rib cage cracks
like the last octave
of a reddening audience.

Brother thinks the tree skirt is soft,
coddling his pats and rabbits
below a ranch full o' pine scented apples.

Sister wonders if she should bring new girl home,
(met at 1:33 AM on 23rd Street.
Apartment documented to smell like baby powder)
but friends are friends are friends are friends,
just friends as furrowed Daddy repeats to himself.
Even "Hallowed be thy name..." confuses the CCD out of him.

"Cancel Alabama's trip this year;
the bees will be humming in their own candle wax.

Besides, who wants to hug Nana
when her breath doubles over in grilled salmon?"

I found it while unpacking boxes of old books in the basement.
It slipped out of a Spanish to English
dictionary that I probably smuggled out
of a middle school library ten years ago
and haven't opened since.

I knew what it was, of course-
whole years were spent with bad posture
listening to substitute teachers and CCD carpool-drivers
lecture about the bold beauty and senseless frailty
that was youth.
Their bodies were at once tense and earnest.
Their voices were at once condescending and pleading as
they sang deeply of the space we blindly occupied and
they fiercely missed.

My understanding of youth was a
sepia-streak stumble through tall reeds below an open
sky; taking clumsy steps on sea-cut feet
and one day regretting not passing enough
notes kept folded in pockets or taking
enough pictures of the faces whom I ran beside.

Youth, obviously, is subjective-
It can be teased up or sculpted-in tight
in relation to circumstance.
In my own mind youth is a cool breeze,  glory days thing- like prom night or my first kiss.
Really each took place years ago but, since they didn’t
carry the weight or sheen I was told they should,
I still sit tight and wait for them.

They will find me eventually.
They’ll arrive a loud booming from a furious sky that births open-prairie rainfall that quiets my
teenage sadness as I sit shotgun
in some boy’s pickup and we race
a  cornfield to the Wyoming border.

The fact that I’m in my twenties is irrelevant.
The fact that I live in New England, where corn is imported and gas is expensive, is not worth noting.

So when, in the basement among the books I've hoarded and arranged around me like armor,
I saw my golden-ticket youth slip
out between pages and waft slowly down, I let it  hit the ground.
I could have crushed it with a sneakered sole
like a cigarette or crumbled it into nothing with shaking fingers.
I could have let it careen down between damp paperbacks to
the box’s bottom and know for certain it
would never reemerge.

But, surprisingly, I didn’t want to.
It was light and lovely in a way I would have never guessed.
It wasn’t as sticky as I thought it’d be.
In fact, as I flipped my hair forward and
double-no-triple knotted the bouncy, silky strings
(Strings that felt more like existing than regretting)
at the nape of my neck- a smile so severe I thought I'd crack found it's way to me.

My youth will never be something I flip through
like a catalogue and miss and cry out for. I will never
be haunted by it nor will I conjure it
around a fire while trying to make a point.
I won’t tell ghost stories about my youth
to bored kids because I am not going to let it die.

I saw it today. For the first time I could touch
it and smell it and I realized it didn’t have to be
the sarcophagus of who I was,
but instead could serve as the shifting
and stretching prologue to who I will be.

I’ll let it hang loose and light from my neck.
Its colors will fade in the sun and its beads will
probably warp as it trapezes altitudes and climates.
It will dull and tarnish.
It won’t stay pretty but neither will I.

I’ll gladly sacrifice any lace and filtered polaroid memories
and oft-repeared stories of my youth; kept behind glass and propped up among rags at a museum exhibit,
for the low belly excitement of closing my eyes today and not knowing what I'll see when I open them tomorrow.

It's dark under all these blankets
And right now, the only thing I can feel is the beating of my heart
But that's not such a bad thing
Because at least I know I'm alive
And memories come flashing back
Of years ago, of yesterday
I was little once
And living was a very fun thing to do
And the only high I knew of was on the swing sets
When I was convinced with just one more push, I could kiss the sky
Then I got bigger
And what I cared about
was being funny and my grades
in that order
Didn't even realize no one liked me til I overheard a conversation in a bathroom
I was so confused
So broken
People aren't supposed to be like that
I told myself
It was the first time another person actually hurt me
With a comment I was never supposed to hear
And that she said so casually
Life was hard then because I did not understand people, but after that I did understand I was alone
Then I got to just about where I am now
Went to eighth grade
Found real friends for the first time
In my whole life
It was amazing
I tried to not scare anyone away with how surprised I was
And under my cool exterior,
How joyful, how unbelievably happy I was for the first time,
Life was good to live then, because even though I knew some people could be mean, my friends, finally getting to use that word, my friends, would never do that to me,
Then I had to leave
Started freshman year at a new school
The only person I really knew there was my brother,
And every class I went to, the teacher saw my last name, asked me about my siblings, talked about how brilliant they were, one literally said
I expect great things from you
The whole class stared at me and I shrunk into my seat
I had PE with a few people the only pleasant acquaintance I had made so far was friends with
But the only options for months were pingpong and basketball
Two things I happened to be very good at
One of them accepted me
openly enough but didn't talk to me
But there was also a blond girl
Always dressed well
I wore tshirts and shorts every day
And who would always look at me
In geometry if I answered a question
In PE after I won again in king of the court or bump
And her eyes would say
who the hell do you think you are
That went on for a while
But we're okay now I think
We had CCD together
And both love the theatre
And we have the same lunch
And now she laughs with me instead of that look
And that pleasant aquentince and I
Thank God for his angels
Hang out sometimes  
My English teacher understands me and the librarian gives me books to read
And life isn't inherently  good or bad to live, I think, it doesn't need to be, it's just something to experience, to learn from, so I'll be ready for whatever's next

so Fernando Suarez was my high school Spanish teacher in La Florida the Land of Flowers he used to take pictures of me when I fell asleep in class with a flash to wake me up with drool running out of my mouth on to my desk and books because I stayed up late after basketball practice studying and before I lived in La Florida I lived in Sacramento California is also a Spanish word as are Santa and Rosa where my youngest son was born Teresa of Avila said she wasn't afraid of Satan me neither but she was afraid of those who are afraid of Satan and I am afraid of predation at times and annihilation but not of the Dark Night of the Soul one Dark Knight Chicago I went out unseen ah! the sheer grace Joe Perez and a beautiful Mexican girl were in CCD with me in Sacramento and Alex who is from Tucson played a lot of ping pong in Chicago wonder and exile in the new world amazing Cabeza de Vaca la Raza Cosmica Richard Rodriguez discovery of Brown my mother went to the University of Toledo my mother Sally Brown who died in Georgetown.          

                                 Viva!

so Fernando Suarez was my high school Spanish teacher in La Florida the Land of Flowers he used to take pictures of me when I fell asleep in class with a flash to wake me up with drool running out of my mouth on to my desk and books because I stayed up late after basketball practice studying and before I lived in La Florida I lived in Sacramento California is also a Spanish word as are Santa and Rosa where my youngest son was born Teresa of Avila said she wasn't afraid of Satan me neither but she was afraid of those who are afraid of Satan and I am afraid of predation at times and annihilation but not of the Dark Night of the Soul one Dark Knight Chicago I went out unseen ah! the sheer grace Joe Perez and a beautiful Mexican girl were in CCD with me in Sacramento and Alex who is from Tucson played a lot of ping pong in Chicago wonder and exile in the new world amazing Cabeza de Vaca la Raza Cosmica Richard Rodriguez discovery of Brown my mother went to the University of Toledo my mother Sally Brown who died in Georgetown.          

                                 Viva!