[Strawberry juice and bent knees]

Strawberry juice and bent knees
fling me to manic highs:

hot veins on warm hands, shoulder blades
pulsing like running pavement.

Jolt across the fabric of thieves,
a belt thick across my hip bones.

Shaken and sprinkled with glass;
wrist, skull, chest. 

August 17 2013

Petals like eyelids, like shells, like dresses,
like scoops that hold dear every tear that it gathers.
In fragrant handfuls she waits for bits of soup:
my heart soup that's dripping through
my crevices that I try to squeeze tight.

Vines like fingers, like rivers, like ribbons,
like incomplete reaching toward the farthest gasp of air.
At my core, behind my ribs, he's grabbing at guts;
keep going, keep going,
so those toes can always wander.

How I fall in love.

     Times I've fallen in love:  2.

     The first time was procrastinated, avoided, and denied.  He was my best friend and we were separated by exactly 100 miles. 
     My childhood best friend lived in the house right next to mine, where we would easily send messages to each other by paper plane and spend every hour of the day together.  Few understand the inevitability of taking those who are only inches away from us for granted. 
     The distance of 100 miles grew us together.  Phone calls tethered us with consistency and thoughtful discussion.
          Average phone calls per month:  23. 
     One of his favorite lines was:  "Saying, 'nothing' is just a cop-out.  C'mon tell me."  He had a way of making you want to tell him what was on your mind. 
     We grew together.  Ideas and beliefs strengthened, intertwined. 
     After months and months and months and months, I relented.  Complete romantic vulnerability.
     Instantly pushed away. 

     The second time was inevitable, tearful, and lost.  He was my outline and we were made out of the same kind of stuff. 
     I would always wonder what it would be like to meet myself.  Would I like her?  Could we be friends?  My verdict was no.  Imagination conjured predictability, battles over influence, and subtle habits clashing.  Since my firm conclusion, I put in no further thought of the subject. 
     Days together confirmed our congruency, including height and shape, restaurant choices, birth order, and a 13 year old brother named Joshua. 
     However, our similarities extended beyond the physical coincidences.  Two hearts brandished little pits that were covered to hide the shame and sadness.  Readily recognizing the sight, we took out little shovels to climb in those tunnels, unbury the secrets.
          Number of my secrets:  8; number of his:  8.
     We tangled ourselves together, passionately, hazardously, like electrical cords with worn plastic coverings and wires poking out like needles.  There was nothing like it and I thought I'd never let go. 
     Then one day he cut a little too deep.
     So I ran.

Blackberries

You and I are filled with purple

     spilling over fingers with juicy stains.

Frame us in porcelain bowls and

     the warm, folded crease of a t-shirt.

We tangle through the deep, wet soil,

     clinging to riversides and forest edges.

Venture into the wild with me,

     stretch out your limbs; come and see

The forgotten trails that house us,

     keep us through the first blush of Spring,

Harvest's sweet pangs and lingering cold.

     Rest your head against the curve of my shoulder

As we linger on, spreading our roots wider still,

     like fingers interlacing; you and I. 

Thinking of you

Big windows in the kitchen
     remind me of you,
Like soft words
     caressing my ears with kisses.
Rustling leaves on barefoot walks
     reminds me of you,
Like fingers in my hair,
     tangled and clumsy.
Shooting stars smudged by street lights
     remind me of you,
Like dewy grass pressed in crisscrosses
     against my legs.
Goosebumps raised on my arms
     reminds me of you,
Like warm, fuzzy blankets hiding
     your cheek against my knee.

Be Mine

     During the years of elementary school, Valentine's Day was a day of class parties and exchanging little cards with candy attached to them.  Sometimes there were kids who would only pass out Valentine cards without the candy.  These were quickly sorted out into a pile marked as "rejected" when an eight-year-old would dump out his or her box to analyze this year's spoils.  However, there were a few candy-less Valentines that were accepted; these were those that had funny quotes or popular characters like Batman and Scooby-Doo.  In another pile, stacks of candy were labeled as "consume". 
     Now "consume" could mean immediately or over the course of several months.  In my younger brother's case, this large stack of candy could last until Halloween, carefully portioned so that cavities could be avoided and when the occasional sugar craving came across this consciousness, he would be prepared.  On the other hand, my sisters and I ate our resources in the span of a couple weeks.  We were "live in the moment" type of girls, knowing that there would be other treats laid out in the kitchen in days to come, so there was no purpose for keeping a reserve of individually wrapped chocolates and candies.  Also, there was the second wave of candy generated by a mound of rejected sweets that my brother refused to eat. 
     Of those rejected candies were the boxes of candy hearts called Sweethearts.  These "conversation hearts" each brandished a short message of love and/or adoration.  Originally, the hearts would carry little printed papers inside them with long messages that were often used during weddings.  They were more like fortunes that fast food Chinese cookies would hold:  "Married in pink, he will take a drink", "Married in white, you have chosen right", and "Married in satin, love will not be lasting".  When the candies were made for mass production in 1902, the could only fit messages that were a maximum of 8 characters long.  "Kiss Me", "Sweet Love", and "Be Mine" were a few of the first lines printed with pink sugary lettering on the hearts. 
     What I could never grasp as a child about these ridiculously sugary candies was if those silly lines printed on each heart would actually be used in conversation.  Like who would actually say the words "kiss me" to someone they loved?  I'm pretty sure that if that other person loved you, they wouldn't need prompting to kiss you.  My parents never said that to each other, or any other couple I had come in contact with.  Then there was the request: "love me".  To me, love wasn't something to ask for with words.  Love was something to ask for with your actions.  Candy is especially pathetic when asking for something so important. 
     The phrase that confounded me more than any other Valentine phrase was the words, "be mine".  "Be Mine" wasn't only printed on candy hearts, but on several pink and red cards made to celebrate the holiday.  Such a question had never made sense to me.  The two words suggested that one person was giving in to the ownership of another.  It seems to me that whoever requests such a thing is insecure, because when someone is "yours" then it makes it seem like they can never leave.  The other person is then trapped, because they are no longer the owner of themselves.  Who would ever want a relationship like that?  I don't know about you, but I definitely wouldn't. 
     However, only a few months ago I found myself speaking that exact cliché line aloud.  Not only aloud, but to a boy. 
     It was a quiet evening, just like many others.  We lay facing each other, bodies positioned in congruent shapes, so that our toes stretched to a similar length and our eyes were perfectly aligned.  Then I spoke the question that had frequently been lingering through my thoughts.  "Why do we do it?" I asked.  "Why do you do it?"
     Truthfully, I don't exactly remember what he said.  What stands out in memory are the words:  love you too much, and nobody else.  Then in conclusion, he asked me the same question, "Why do you do it?"
     Before this moment, I never thought about my reason in a medium that could be communicated.  My response was a strong feeling of...I don't know.  As his green eyes watched me, I searched for words that could come close to the emotion I was hoping to express.  Words, words, words, words, words.  Finally I parted my mouth to slowly spit out words that would eventually build upon each other into expression.  "I just..."  A second pause of searching.  "I just want you..."  That wasn't enough.  "To...be mine."  That was what I was searching for.  Yet as I said those words, I was appalled at myself.  For so long I avoided cliché "romantic" phrases like they were sharks swimming after me. 
     His response was silent and he kept watching me as I thought and spoke. 
     "I can't believe I just said that.  It sounds so dumb, but that's how I feel."
     "It's not dumb," he said as pushed a few strands of hair back behind my ear.  Careful fingers stroked across my cheek left an invisible pathway of raw nerve endings.  Even the slightest brush of contact could get my blood running at a faster pace. 
     His lips against mine isn't close enough when I have him in my grasp.  Press closer, closer, then maybe we'll dissolve into one being.  Maybe if every inch him covered me in a blanket of warmth I could feel his heart beat for mine and his breath fill my lungs.  Existing as a single person no longer feels adequate. 
     I now firmly believe that a separate verb should be created solely for this kind of emotion, because ownership is nothing like it.  Creating a new verb would then shoo away the commercializers that downplay the message by creating casual Valentine's Day cards about an emotion that spreads from the heart and infects your entire being.

Youth

We talk of love too wild to contain

Of words that form the limits of world's daylight

And throw away the things we can't explain.

We dream of passion to escape mundane 

Listen, our cries resounding, full of fight

We talk of love too wild to contain.

We clasp onto clever ideas with vain,

Wonderful persistence; minds do unite

And throw away the things we can't explain.

We dive into our bed of sheets with pain

Inhabited in hearts fragile and white

We talk about love too wild to contain.

We sing mouths wide with vigor, of tales our brains

Have grasped during times had at twilight

And throw away the things we can't explain.  

Whispered breaths capture wishes he have of gain

Greater than words considered in moonlight

We talk of love too wild to contain

And throw away the things we can't explain.