one fish, two fish, red fish, puce fish
seventeen names
1.
seatback upright and tray table locked.
2.
heartbreak or jealousy have nothing to do with this
but something hides in every downbeat.
3.
halfway between the black boots and the brown hat
rests a red stone pumping out the melody
to this awkward masterpiece.
4.
halfway between the sea and the sky
lived a girl who ached to breathe music
or maybe she just wished to by lyrical
and got the wording wrong.
5.
a hardwood floor
a large fierce bird
three dice dropped halfheartedly
in the wrong place
at the right time.
6.
once she forgot how to walk.
or she forgot how she had once walked unburdened
and caught herself watching in windows
for that gap in her stride
where she got it all wrong
and she was always amazed that no one else seemed to notice anything off.
7.
this is not about lying or confessions
this is not about heartbreak or homecomings,
this is not about children grown invincible
or summers grown infinite.
this is all about how i can’t help but write poems
that always come back to me
back to the space between my teeth and my tongue.
8.
she is working towards the point
when she will write with spray paint on hardwood floors,
but she is grateful that at least
she doesn’t write in pencil anymore,
that she’s no longer afraid to listen to music in public
or dance horribly in new places
with bare feet
and short sleeves.
9.
one for seashells
two for fire
three for the breakwater
four for the tide.
five for forgetting
six for umbrellas
seven for weekends
eight for her pride,
but she doesn’t count on her fingers anymore. that was last year.
10.
turn right at the corner and walk up the hill,
but only if you don’t need to be logical today,
and your shoelaces are tied
and your headphones are working.
up the hill, right again, then left, quickly.
if you miss the bus be ready to wait half an hour.
forget where you’re going.
remember where you’ll be a year from now.
put down your backpack.
this is the only thing i know how to teach you.
11.
left long enough underwater
certain things turn blue
and others simply soften,
simply disintegrate-
for your viewing pleasure-
simply slide apart from center,
or swell like dough rising.
left long enough underwater
certain things will sink
and certain things
will rise.
12.
in a tin found in a tea box
there is a pile of fortunes-
slim slips of paper printed little,
and dry,
they always want you
to be prosperous
or popular
to go on a journey
or get some really good mail.
she has considered basing her life on them,
but she could never figure out what the numbers
on the back meant.
13.
seatback upright and tray table locked,
but sometimes she wonders
if she bought her soul at a discount
because needless-to-say,
it’s second hand-
or at least that’s what they
seem to mean when they
call her an old soul.
souls are bought at a discount
and it’s better that way
so we can keep them like crystals
but not feel like we’ve been cheated
if they come up leaky in the end.
14.
there are people she loves.
there is a girl she talked to on her cell phone
about dreadlocks and pronouns
in the minneapolis airport
until the minute before boarding.
there is a girl who emails her poems every six months,
and a boy who hugs her till she’s gasping
and a girl who left a vegan snickerdoodle in her box
and a poem in her yearbook.
there are two people who send her sunflowers in the mail
and three people she loves but won’t admit it yet.
there is a girl who won’t let her get away with anything
and two who will let her get away with everything.
and there are people she misses, but let’s not get into that right now.
15.
she learned how to sew,
how to write, cook and build things
with nails and wood and band aids.
she learned how to speak loudly
how to take up space,
and paint with messy brushstrokes
and fill glasses full without spilling.
all things she’d know once and had since forgotten.
she learned how to waltz, once, too,
but her partner gave up on her quickly,
since she couldn’t remember
which foot
was right
and which foot
was left.
16.
and she wishes that music and math
could be more than just metaphors
‘cause she thinks that if her days were ordered by
fractions or half-steps, then
a semblance of reason would emerge.
so much rhyme so little reason
or rhythm
so much downbeat and so little rebound
but somehow she comes down upright each time
and it amazes her
it amazes her like frost and
oranges and theater
‘cause she has tried jaded,
really she has,
it just never
quite worked out.
17.
and speaking of love-
there are people that roll over you
leave you shuddering and windblown
there are people that roll over you
the way tides come in and go out
and they seep into you
like dark tea into
toast or linen
and there are some days she wishes
that she didn’t build herself so much with respect to others
or she hadn’t been shaped by so many tides
but then she thinks that
she’s just glad that the
right tides have changed her
and certain kindnesses
stay on her skin,
like scars or stains.