SaturdaysOn the first Saturday, I was a stranger in your house.
We lay side by side, your ankle over mine,
And watched re-runs of our favorite show.
Your fingers found my hand, as if by accident,
But neither of us said a word.
Your sister asked if we were going to get married.
On the second Saturday, I knew you better.
We spent the day jumping on the trampoline,
Laughing and rolling in colored leaves.
At night, we lay on your bed and stared at the ceiling
And talked about the stars.
My jacket left a constellation on your arm.
On the last Saturday, we threw a party.
We ate pizza around the koi pond and walked to the park,
Where you said goodbye to a friend.
When the sun disappeared, we piled into a car
And took sharp turns with the windows down.
The wind smelled of summer when you kissed me.
Saturdays don't happen anymore.
PaintbrushesI never took you for granted.Paintbrushes2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
While so many others were swept away,
Spinning bottles and kissing for spare change,
I remembered the way tears dripped from your eyelashes
Like paint from a brush.
Thick bristles that brushed your cheeks when you blinked,
A face composed of more freckles than skin,
Hair that curled over ears as round as a doll's.
I remembered how your jaw set when you tried to hide,
How your body turned to stone and the light left your eyes
The time your steps dragged and your shoulders curled,
And you turned away when I tried to make you laugh.
I remembered when I saw you for the first time in a month,
When silver skylines were fresh in my mind,
When you leaped from the swing set and ran down your driveway,
And the sky was so blue when you smiled.
I remembered the way the light framed your face when you slept,
How your chin reminded me of Greek statue, but I didn't wake you.
I remembered your last words at the train station were,
I remembered the moment I spot