Reid@YWP

When I was first brought into the boathouse, the outside world was different. The rowers were different, the clothes they wore were different, the oars they used were different, and the waters of the lake were clearer.

When Eros shoots the heart of one 

The piercing point of Beauty’s son 

Borne of love and lust and loss 

To pine for one’s a lover’s cost. 

Last year, floods ransacked Vermont.

They stole. They destroyed. They even killed.

While the rest of the country dealt with extreme heat,

Vermont was struggling just as much with the floods.

How do I celebrate? 

How do I cheer 

with masses of people?

How do I celebrate freedom,

knowing only half of me was set free today?

The Ferris Wheel of Doom (and other disasters)

The fair is usually fun.

Note: usually.

The streets have teeth and we hold our fingers with enough space for the others and drink cider on a corner where the ceiling above us blinks blue-blue-blue onto her tonsil-pink dress and someday I hope I never have to see it in a suitca