I guess I never thought
The world would collapse while
The moon looked on and laughed.

Memories wash back to me
Like shells reappearing on the sand -
Walking to classes with frenemies like me,
Running around screaming like maniacs 
And kicking slush at each other
While the French teacher utterly ignored us
And told us to feel how beautiful the sun was,
Shared earbuds and
Accompanying one of you to the school store to buy
A Pop-Tart,
Advisory lunches every Friday
And getting 100s in math,
Secret memories stashed away in a box,
For when someone asks me about what it was like
Then.
I'll tell them it creeped up on us
Like a rainstorm that unexpectedly hails,
Then shut the box away
Because I don't want to think about
The masks that smothered our lives.

The moon laughs as we struggle and slip under the tidal waves of
Torrential fear

Once upon a time there was a really great guy.
Why was he so great?
Shush, he just was. People cheered when he came home victorious from war.
Oh no, that’s so sad. Who did he kill?
It’s not important to the story. The guy became really important, so some people plotted to kill him.
Wow, that escalated fast. Although I guess he killed someone else so…
Lots of people around the guy were trying to warn him something bad was going to happen. But he didn’t listen.
What kinds of people?
A random guy in a cloak on the street - 
Okay, why would he listen to them? I wouldn’t.
- and his wife. 
Oh come on, he’s so dumb he won’t even listen to his wife?!
So then all the people gathered together and stabbed him.
Woot! Good for them, stabbing a guy who didn’t respect his wife!

It’s quiet up here
On the eighth floor
Where the boards are creaky and the window lets in a draft.
Sometimes we’ll listen to the radio and let the broken sounds of the talking fill the empty rooms.
It’s a secret to be here
Opening a package of graham crackers and trying to eat them silently,
Crumbs spilling on the floor.
It’s silent up here on the eighth floor.
The laundry hangs between us and the next building.
Last year the neighbor yelled over to us if we would attach the string to our windowsill,
So we did,
Closing the shades quickly after our short conversation.
There’s a note scrawled on the door frame that leads into the closet,
It says, little did she know.
We wonder what she did know. 
It’s sad up here on the eighth floor.
Sometimes we’ll play music very quietly so no one can hear us,
Usually Mozart but sometimes I’ll ask for J. Balvin.
Maybe this place has a past,

March 5, 2020
I decided I was lonely
And left for the store to buy little specks in green bags

I planted the specks in dirt from a pile behind the garage
And left them by the window with the white panes

I watered the pile of dirt for a week
Carefully pressing it down and imagining the seeds inside reaching up to me

When I saw something green peeking out of the dirt
It felt like something jumped inside me
I was almost surprised
That something had actually been growing in that dirt I so carefully cared for

Now the green is taller
But the flowers still haven't appeared
I'm proud of the specks that came from the bag
And I water them every day,
Patting down the earth,
Stroking their little leaves.

Now that I have something to care for,
I'm not lonely anymore.
 

The little brown dog lies still on the grass
Its ears twitch and its eyelids wink
It's restless.
The little brown dog opens its eyes and peeks out at the ladybug on its paw
Two species in motion, two species in harmony
It closes its eyes again.
The little brown dog is sure of itself as it pads across the yard
Sniffs a bush, bats at a still-moving swing
And flops down again onto the grass.
The little brown dog leads a quiet life.
It goes unnoticed by the rushing world.
It doesn't mind. 
 

You two are going in my permanent memory
Two best friends that read each other's minds
You've got these little dances that go with songs and I love to watch you laugh at each other
I can tell you're good friends just from the way you act around each other 
But when you're together you also somehow form a radiation of goodness that I love so much
Like the time I got frustrated and left the group
You came to find me with your friends and cheered me up
Asked me if I was okay
Belted out the words to Mariah Carey with me
Or how about the time
You waved to me from the back of the bus
It's not like we're good friends
But you waved and waved, grinning and your other friends did too
Waved until the bus turned the corner
And left me feeling like you sprinkled fairy dust on me
Guys, there's so much mean energy around right now

There was a giant ocean of paint
A canvas stroked over and over with the blue from a bottomless can
Swipe,
Swipe,
Swipe,
Patiently, over and over.
The man had been working for days on the masterpiece -
A jewel-colored ocean, and a soft baby blanket-colored sky overhead.
It was to be his first piece to sell in years, as he had hit a dry spot as an artist. 
He stepped back and stared, not quite satisfied, at his canvas.
It was missing something.
Just then, as he was scratching his eyebrow thoughtfully,
His daughter ran into the room,
A bubble of pure, happy, rainbow energy
Knocking over a giant can of bright 
yellow
paint 
all 
over
the
room
and a small splatter fell onto the beautiful blue.
A gasp. The uncomfortable feeling of silence except the biting of a tongue.

Happiness
Means beaches and sun and vacation. It means swimming and fresh grass and ice cream sandwiches. Rivers and fishing and camping. It means cousins and cold water and awesomeness.
Boy, do I love a good ol' Charleston summer. 
I love the ocean and the beach and biking on the sandy road under baking sun, but in the shade. I love golf carts and the creek and hot dogs and bread for lunch. I love lazing on the screen porch in the morning and then going back into the cold air conditioning. I love going to aquariums and restaurants where you can sit outside under the twinkle lights and eat your lemon chicken. I love everything about Charleston, South Carolina, because it is my happy place.  
Boy, do I hate a good ol' New England winter. 
I hate being cold. I hate dreariness. I hate when you can see the grass through the snow. I hate being stuck inside. It gives me headaches and I get gloomy. I hate waiting, I am impatient. 
Why was I born in Vermont?

O Beast of the tangled wild
O friend in help and hope
You've conquered the shyest child
Teaching them how to learn and cope

Your life has been a patient quest
Of wonderful watching bliss,
I've turned to you in times of test
Knowing but only this:

It is hard to think that people know you
As a product to hurt and hunt,
But in my silver heart that's true,
You are simply
Elephant.