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PRIVATE ENTRY
21:59 Nov 23 2010
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12:54 Nov 20 2010
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Am I dead back there somewhere

Yesterday, all glue sticks and glitter,

Gym class and grammar?

My grandmother squints at her fingers,

Sewing smiles on ragdolls.

I see a wavy girl,

My window cracked in the heat,

Carrying an empty frame before her,

And I will dream of her all my life.

Does she carry it still,

A woman in her fifties framing her view?

All that is between me and the world

Is my skin, sometimes too thin

When I sleep in and you are still alive,

Talking in the kitchen and sipping coffee,

Bicycle-shaped shadows on the wall,

A paintbrush, smudged, and nails on the sill

All hinging on this and hinging on that.

Threads of golds and reds

Quilt across my life in Mom’s tight stitches

That embroider butterfly wings

On my first-day-of-school dress.

Scraped knees,

Hinges that bend so close to the earth

That I see life just as Dad showed me,

Skittering along on the way to work.

My head is heavy, dreaming of the girl

Framing her world

While the pale, freckled arms of the one I love

Make a circle around me.

With Whitman and a western wind at my back,

The scent of salt and sea on the air,

We’re setting sail for Cythera,

Steering just east of Baudelaire.