Everything is icy when you dive underwater
It leaves you no time to think, to wonder whether you made the right choice
It leaps into your skeleton
You are suspended in what only you can feel 
Opening your eyes
Everything is blurry 
Green and blue
Your eyes sting, and are closed once again
Blind, you propel yourself through the bubbles that dance all over your skin
They waltz with the goosebumps that cover you

Water 
Smooth and silky, wanders and caresses you
You hear nothing
You are alone
You are singular, you are infinite
You are beautiful
Any sound is muffled
Stifled
Silenced
As your hair floats around
It haloes your face
Brushes your cheek
Your eyelashes

Your toes brush the rough mush of the bottom
Stretching, you descend
Kneeling, you listen
These are the last moments
That you will hear
Nothing

"The doctor said his artery...oh hon, did he say artery or valve...?"

My grandfather, who is sitting directly next to my grandmother, shrugs as he takes a monstrous bite out of his Whopper. 
The thin paper rattles in his hands as a spurt of mustard decisively takes residence on his upper lip. 
He chews as my grandmother continues her story, turning her body towards my mother and I. 

"Anyway, the doctor said his artery, or valve, was shaped like a heart, now isn't that just beautiful?"

I smile, because I'm looking at the mustard. Yes, it is beautiful, grandma. Very beautiful. 


 

What happens, class

When a star dies?

I know

My hand shows it

Flying in the air

Casting a shadow upon those

Who know

how to sleep

I know

Says the red circled A

On my papers

Creating a red aura

On those who ate breakfast this morning

And the last

I know

Says the bags under my eyes

And the bags slung over my shoulder

Filled with textbooks

I know

Because I pushed that her out of my weekend

I know

Because I told him I didn’t have time

I know

Because I spend so much time making them proud

That they don’t see me

They don’t see the real me

Because she's hiding behind  

A computer

Or

A deadline

Or

A report card

I couldn’t find her

Every time the snow falls down
Elegant snowflakes dance to the ground
Though each one is different and very small
It doesn't really matter at all
So why do we look at just their skin
When so much more lies within

We see their icy crystal form
But fail to notice what matters more
They may not be the same at all
But in the end that fact is small
They are as different as they are alike
But should all be the same when it comes to flight

Every time the snow falls down
Elegant snowflakes dance to the ground
Though each one is different and very small
It doesn't really matter at all
So why do we look at just their skin
When so much more lies within.

 

The brittle air encases anyone who steps out
The soft snowflakes brush your skin and get stuck in your hair
The winter is beautiful but brutal

The cold came swiftly to Vermont
In early November it was already turning young girl’s cheeks pink

The snow came soon after
Making the state a winter wonderland

Snowball fights were held on the green
Girls against boys, of course

Snow angels are sprinkled in yards
And the big hills had sled marks all over.

 

The brushes of the winter wind
Whisk across the cottage windows.
Only in the darkness do they paint
For they are shy
And work best in the night.
When the world is fast asleep
They come
They come across the freezing moor
Peering in the windows of all the houses
Riding the tendrils of clouds
Carried along by the gusts of chilly wind.
They come to each window
And dip their brushes in the frosty air.
Then they create 
They paint small spirals and designs all over the glass.
They dance through the winter air and dab at their canvas.
When each window is a masterpiece
They retreat back to the sky.
In the morning,
The children wake up and gasp in surprise at the painters' work.
They use their fingers to add their own touches to the frosty art.
Soon the sun
Melts away their work 
Clearing the canvas
So the winter painters can cover them once more.
 

We always meet here.

The waiter comes, I order some coffee
He asks where she is
I say she’s on her way

I can smell her
This place smells of her
She smells of this place
Our memories smell of here
They always will.

I wait.

I finish my coffee and order more; decaf
She always gets decaf, I remember
I don’t want this coffee anymore

I wait.
It’s late.
I leave.

I'd told the waiter she was on her way
 

I cut through my spiraling, twisting, coalescing thoughts by turning my attention to my phone.
I press the small button to wake it up.
I look at the time.

8:26.

I turn again, this time away from my phone, and the thoughts come back.
Foggy, confused, uncontrollable.
I think about every action I took today
And how I could have done things differently
Said things in other ways
Left people alone for certain amounts of times.
It feels like I could think about every single thing I did for hours and hours and get no answers,
No conclusions.

I’d have to do something else.

I fumble around with small objects
I tidy the space around me
I shift a glass just a little to the right
I glance at my phone.
I hit the small button, and the phone lights up.
I see the time.

8:26.

Huh.

I pick up my phone and text the person I need answers from.

There is something magical in the leaves during Autumn.