I remember a day
when our innocence
was endless and we were
both full of hope, tightly strung
harpists, letting our
thoughts play over our hearts.

I remember that we swung,
bare feet a bit too cold,
bare hands clenched:
too tight on rusty chains.
They left dusty stains beneath
our fingernails until we
noticed and washed them away.

We pretended the sky was
a mystery, skimmed our
glances across it to avoid
each other’s eyes.
I let the swoop and glide
pull away the sting of a
new beginning. I didn’t know
that the start of something could
Hurt like that.

The beginning was a rope twined around
my wrist. The tendrils of everything
that could go wrong,
made of all the tears I had dreamt
for our tomorrows. It pushed itself
into my veins until I could feel
them pulsing and achingly
Alive.

It was evening when we
fell from our swings,
clumsy birds heavy with
unspoken words. I wandered
into the dying meadow and picked
fistfuls of skeletal dandelions.
Their milk was sticky on
my palms as I held
one out to you.



We wished, and I lied
to you but only with my lips.
And when I wished again
I blew so hard that my
lungs were empty and
my foolish heart beat out the truth
before I could stop it.
And the flower stem
in my hand was splashed
with red.

You held me tight
against you to say goodbye.
you were all gentle fingers,
frost velvet skin and
sweet heartbeat. I was all fraying rope,
shattering truths, bittersweet hope
and broken harp strings
within the arch of
your arms.