I have tried to paint this beautifully
in swirling pastels of childhood
like Vaseline over a camera lens
hazes of slow-motion imagery
if it’s naive to believe in changing the world
then I am still a fool
a child’s helpless grasp on hope
in a woman’s intuition

Tomorrow, I will worry about the future.
But today, I wallow in the past.

Tomorrow, I will be 16 and trying to remember
if the derivative of arcsin is one over
square-root-of-one-minus-u-squared
or square-root-of-u-squared-minus-one.

You were my

Spaghetti boyfriend

Blonde

Full of spaghetti

That’s all I really

Know about you

You were my

Only friend

Bright

Full of potential

It’s strange how I don’t

Remember you

The place many memories were made, where laughs echo throughout the woods. Splashes into the water below can still be heard and felt on a hot summer’s day. The rope that hangs, worn and weathered from young hands, gripping it tightly.

As children everything is pure

Endless and pure

As you age you notice the stars

Burnt out memories light years away

Only if you can see them

Past your city lights and suburbs.

In their memory we keep living on

Laughter chirps through my ears

A forever perfect

Harmony

In this imperfect world

Sunshine frames the chalk lines

Every colorful streak

A reflection of my friends

A reflection of myself

At the grocery store

In the days of our youth

The green twist ties were the best part.

So easily entertained were we

With these simple pliable toys

Laughing and forming new shapes.

As our war rages on, I’m caught in a crossfire.

One side shrieks its anthem of misguided hope.

The other, facing reality’s certain dread head on.

While I, a teenager caught in the midst of battle, seek refuge.

I was sitting in my private school, around age 8

The religion teacher said, everyone sit in a circle

Don’t speak

Close your eyes

Raise your hand when you hear God speaking to you

One by one each child raised their hand

I sat