Us

When the rain beats onto the street

And seeps down into the gutter

With the street lights glowing yellow

On the black pavement,

You sigh, look up.

Feel the moonless yellow lull you

And your ideal zen senses.

When the rain comes, it's wet.

And I'm a cat with lots of hair.

On her tiptoes, hunched over.

Look down,

Worms swimming in the water.

Didn't you see them?

I'm worried.

You would run naked through forest rain.

I...

Wouldn't.

So when it's cold at night and the rain

Beats unevenly against the windows

You and I

Smile in bed.

You and your happiness,

Me, being dry.

It's precisely the contrast

In our rainy sensations--

Your cooling, my coldness

Your exhilaration, my fear--

That makes this moment--

The jagged rain, the soft sheets--

Us.

A February birthday poem, written in September.

This is a birthday poem
Because you loved to read my poems
And you liked it when I wrote about you

I'll put this on your grave
But your soul's not there
And I don't know how to find it
Still, I hope you will read this

You still have a poem of mine
But I don't know how to get it back

Happy birthday
You bought me a painted sterling bracelet
with arched jumping dolphins for mine
at that festival
next to your house
remember?

I liked how those dolphins jumped in a
continuous circle one after another
Brightly
I liked how it fit my wrist

That was September 10 years ago
And I lost that bracelet
It's gone Intangible

I can't walk through the festival
I see its lights dangling between
telephone poles and I cry
Dolphins dripping down my eyes
And the twilight colors them painted sterling

In my poem to you
I won't talk about how beautiful you are
Because you don't exist
Because you weren't when I saw you
your chest stuffed and your face made up
and they couldn't get your skin color right
so you looked yellow
You looked dead
I was scared to look for too long because I thought your eyes would pop open

I can't see anything but those pretty dolphins
They're unraveling becoming a string
now separating too

I don't want to let them go
They're just a memory
They don't look like a bracelet anymore
I forgot what colors they were painted
I forgot the little things I liked about them
I forgot what the clasp looked like
They fall sadly into separates
Dripping they look like hot tears
I wish they would turn into birds and fly
You died without being ready
So they never will

Thinking of a friend with a heartache, I decided to post this

This poem is dated May 4, 2003. That would have made me fourteen years old, but heartache hurts no matter what age you are. I really enjoy my writing from this time.

Make it go away

Make it hide in the dust of the stairwell

Away from me, away from them,

The ones who care.

Who can love if it is only a word?

An idea, like the colors of sound,

Pulling at imagination and want.

That which is irresistible, but a wild stab

In your heart:

A beautiful fluttering of butterflies around me,

While locusts swarm in to destroy the golden wheat.