Summer Home on Pluto This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

January 25, 2013
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I've heard it said that writers are the keepers of the human race.
And I don't mean to scare you,
but you will be the boy who caught the glances of angels.
They looked down on you and said,
"He, now HE, will be a writer,"
and they tattooed a pen to you hand and sent you here.
They know you will be the boy to turn me inside out,
and write rage on my skin,
so that when my gaze bleeds crystal,
there will be war in my eyes,
And when I'm translucent with age, you will remember that you once
watercolor-ed my heartbeat.
Your eyes will be the color of the mass-grave silence after the bullet rain
that tore families apart,
unknit fingers clasped in fingers
so now only the roots,
to beautifully, parasitically dependent upon the earth,
Only the words remain.
You will be the boy who scribbled his named in my throat,
so now every breathe I take
tastes like coffee and acrylic paint.
You will be the boy who was backwards.
Feet in the clouds, head in the ground- you always did like doing handstands.
You'll say the sun's smile looks better upside down.
You will be the boy
who made my clumsiness sound like poetry.
And I don't know you yet,
but when I find you,
I'll take you to a doctor.
We'll have them read you palms, just to make sure that when you were a baby,
you had a weapon tattooed to your hand by glory-stained Seraphim.
You will use that pen to sever the ropes that keep you gravity bound.
You will write yourself a star
and dig me out of another girl's shadow.
You will write footprints on the asteroid belt- two sets.
After all, you will be the boy who always wanted moon-shoes.
But wait! There's more!

Your death will be the color of your reflection in my eyes.
And please let me go first, because you will be the boy who can catch all the snowflakes my silver tongue can't.

We will build a summer home on Pluto,
because the summers there are longer,
and, gosh darn it, it's a planet, and I don't care what they say.

We will be the astronaut and the eagle,
and we'll hide that sparrow costume I used to wear.

I don't know you yet, but I'll know when I meet you, because you will be a keeper of the human race.

And I really don't mean to scare you, but I'm waiting.

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triadbella said...
Jan. 30, 2013 at 10:10 pm
This is really, really beautiful.
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