March 12

Today is your birthday.
A spring baby with the temper of a Leo, bound to be broken.

I wash my hands again, one drop at a time cleansing each fingertip.
A blank envelope lies in the back of my closet.
I close the door so your promise is real.
My faithfulness unfolds one centimeter at a time.
I can feel you just inches away
settled in my routine, but
this time is different.

This time, I forget to apologize for speaking up in front of your best friend.
Silence is your solution and I am left deaf with disappointment. This time,
I can’t recall the warmth of your touch
apologetically brushing the outside of my thigh,
always under a table. This time when I blink,
I lose a little bit of you.

You’re a child lost in thought, spinning my focus as you lead me
away from everything I am sure of.
We wander among the out-of-state license plates,
making stops at every park we come across,
resting tired bones on blue swings, the inertia
carving out our bodies as you slowly pick up my hand and rest
your shoulder against mine.

4 months later, I memorize every imperfection on your face,
knowing it will dissolve.
My smile fails to conceal just how much I want you.
You start picking fights like the sun burnt skin that won’t relent but I am numb,
permanently missing everything we were.
You leave 3 thousand miles between us and I run in circles this time.

I can’t wait for you to change.

What I miss the most: that voice, every crack it carries,
the pale eyes that found another face as I let go of forever to fall in love.
We watched every memory fade into an empty plot and I hurt you,
possibly harder than before.

I know that my heart will heal
if I let it,
but I can’t undo you. I am lonely,
not alone.

A Sweet Tooth for Sadie

Sticky and sweet were our younger years. With a spade in hand, I fearlessly ran through life. No fire ant too tough to take us and no distance far enough to say goodbye. You were a sweet tooth and I had a friend.

I collected attention as you gathered cards off the floor, picking up a mess without a sound. We ran to the kitchen, flying for the last blue Otter Pop. It dripped down my arm and you cried while I reached for a napkin.

We waved at the man whispering to the July shore. He did not smile back.

Perhaps he lacked the same appetite, or maybe just let his eyes close for that imperative moment.

Either way we continued.

A single drop of sweat ran down my leg as we raced our shadows past the water’s edge. I saw a white flag floating atop a crooked crest of sand, and I knew we were alive in that tender, breathless moment.

But time rolled over and our faces thinned.  A summer heart break left you dry.

We found chocolate in a hidden drawer. The soft sound of chewing comforted us as I tucked you in.