Maybe I should have questioned
why your teeth always chattered
like fingers clicking on a typewriter,
and why your fingernails
looked as though faint, blue ink
had bled through
but who questions anything
at the age of sixteen
and maybe I should have noticed
the lunches you spent
or listening to music,
as you gave away your lunch,
because you said
you were not hungry-
and I silently thought
more for me
and maybe I should have wondered
why you walked through the hallways
with pockets of graphite
under your eyes,
as your knees knocked together
like keys on a lanyard:
and maybe t
Chapter 1 -
Allow a slip of the tongue now and then when nobody's looking,
snatch the truth back up and bury it in your pocket
to tumble crumpled into a collection of inky snowflakes in the wash.
Find them again and feel bitter that no one saw their truth.
Cut your heart into breadcrumbs,
spread out for wild animals and left-over the earth,
part of you hoping someone will follow.
Try not to care when they scatter it to the birds.
Hide behind braids of flowers in the garden back,
listen with breath baited for hurried footsteps and searching hands -
a solo game of Marco Polo.
Miss a beautiful afternoon
whispering "I'm here"