you've felt
the brambles and sweat,
the curl of berry-stained lips.
you've seen
the cornflower sky stolen
by a red-orange river,
the evening still thick
with lightning bugs and laughter.
you've held
up your hair against the heat
and turned on a fan,
while i stand here, in the grey,
skin pale and prickled.
you know
what i don't: that soon,
the sun will slide across the table
and glint off the silverware
at just the right moment,
turning me blind.
Today I thought I looked pretty
It must have been a trick of the light
I can't fall asleep in this city
I wish that you'd come stay the night.
Last week I talked to you for hours
sing to me.
i've been a stranger once more
to your hills and valleys, to the
gaps of sunlight between your grasping evergreens.
i've been a stranger
to the red barn
her voice sounded heavy to her, filled
with the unnamed emotion
everyone had told her to expect. except
she hadn't. she'd rolled
her eyes at the shiny pamphlets and blog posts
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