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at one point the light in your
eyes
&the light in my
eyes
met, just for a few seconds,

bought me a taco,
tossed me in the grass,
rubbed my belly
&

hugged
me
to
sleep.

soda water

You loved her better than he ever could,
resting my ear quietly on your boyish chest,
counting off the beats: (onetwo, onetwo)
of your well-tempered heart.

Pairing blades of grass:
(onetwo, onetwo,)
greens & yellows.
I am sorry for this.

For hurting you with
innocent onetwos, and lazy waltzes
over your papa`s hard-wooded floor,
tapping out the beat with
bare feet--
care full of toes,
nails,
bones...

One day we will walk back to
the same home together,
counting off our steps in
onetwos,
threesandfours.

&write our own lazy waltzes,
in the carpeted cozy of very own living rooms,
not so care full any more of

toes,

whales,

bones...

tremours.

When I was younger, I used to have night terrors. You know, those sneaky, scary, terrifying thoughts that creep into your head after the sun sets down. I don`t think I was able to have sleep over parties away from home until I was about twelve. This one time, my mom came and picked me up around 11pm, because I "wanted to sleep in my own bed." Really I just wanted her. Eventually though, all little girls grow up. &I wasn`t so afraid of sleepovers any more. So much so that I decided to invite myself to a 4 year one. And, mostly, I'm not so afraid. But sometimes, on occasion, I wake up from a night terror. &right then I wish I could ask Mrs. SoandSo to call my mom to come pick me up. But then I remember it would take a few days for her to get here.
I know you`re tired of being alone; you`ll be safe with me.
So I lie back down &wait for the morning.

as i walked out one evening.

"O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming
And the deep river ran on.
-W. H. Auden

cavities.

There was a time in my life when I wrote about my heart's laments in a black, hard bound journal.
I also had a special [non-blogger] blog that held all my adolescent secrets.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Maybe they were secret, but that certainly didn`t mean I didn`t want them to be found. In fact, if I'm honest with myself, if I didn`t want something to be found, why would I have put it on the internet?! Just think about it.
Any way.
I got pretty good at posting cryptic messages about the boys in my life. Or should I say, the boys [I wished were] in my life.
But one in particular had really caught my eye. Nathen with an "e" not an "a" wore a dress shirt and tie to school every day of the 10th grade. Because he "didn`t want to buy uniform shirts, &this was my only option."
What a guy.
Didn`t matter that I was a year older. He was way out of my league.
So in my little online journal, I would practice writing letters that I would never send to this counter-cultured 16 year old.
Fast forward to 5 years later, &through some smiling of the gods, Nathen &I have developed a friendship of sorts. It mostly involves a bi-annual 20 minute phone call, and a few letters here &there. Nothing too demanding. Nothing too promising.
He`ll probably grow up to be some big, hot-shot lawyer somewhere; &I`ll probably be making money writing cryptic poems about him. [I`ve found out I`m pretty good at lying when I write. But I heard they`re calling it fiction nowadays.]
So, if you happen to stumble across a poem that has some love-sick undertones, don`t you worry. I`m just reminiscing on what could have [never] been.
Most likely, it`s for Nathen.

P.S. Please don`t tell him I wrote this.

"&I promise you I`ll never ever complain."

l.f.

I`d like to show you some great-grand-kids, eventually.
But, oh! There`s just not enough time for that.