Love is an abstract painting:
Colors convey a feeling but not an idea
the frame barely holds it together and the lines
trail outward, repeat, and redouble
I can’t discern the meaning
can’t analyze or write out an explanation
I can’t fathom obtaining the truth because I am not rich enough to buy it
and I am not interested enough to keep visiting the museum
At parties I sit quiet and calculate my words
I avoid the eyes of guys and stare at my phone.
After all that hiding,
dissatisfaction feels like heartburn,
crying over a simple email
the lasts build a lump in my throat
last time beaming onstage
signing yearbooks
wearing a stiff blue skirt
One girl’s lanky frame against the dark turf field,
lit up by fluorescent lights
She saunters toward the building
holding another girl’s hand
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