chlorine

i wish summertime was more than just gentle breezes flowing through windows.

a pool like an altar.

no one to worship, though,

where have you been.

trailing our feet through the water.

do you remember those summers?

down water slides.

nothing graceful about it. leave the

regality to the wind.

nothing graceful about it. leave the softness to the

girls with boyfriends.

i refused to let you put makeup on me.

we were fourteen, i think.

we would walk in circles around the

fire pit in your backyard.

ah, you never used it.

and i never found anyone to kneel in front of.

good, too, because i don’t think i ever will.

love is not a church. but there is something

in prayer that marks maps to something else.

oh, you’re the only one who knew what i meant.

hm, you’re saying,

huh, i’m humming,

and i open the window a sliver

to stare at the shapes of sunlight

holding onto the garage doors

for dear life.

i look out my window and feel pittsburgh somewhere close.

summers are spent remembering, here,

there, everywhere, they are a 

recollection of living rooms i would watch

mean girls in. and how

you always knew you were

going to fall in love, but i’m not

sure you ever did, but you kept sprinting, didn’t you,

you were a brat who always fought with her parents in front of me 

and i wanted them to be mine anyway,

i dreamed of being your sister in another life.

you left me behind for another.

they left you behind for yet one more.

and i can picture you at the cash register

at the burger chain across from the king buffet.

someone told me you love it there.

you always yearned for something.

different somethings than i did,

but you humored me and my

all-too-long monologues about

running into sunsets.

i suppose you wanted safety.

i always wanted to be reckless.

funny how we turned out, isn’t it.

i saw you that one time, a couple years

later, and we laughed like time had never taken me away.

rolled around in a picnic blanket at

a joke no one else understood.

stupid, stupid,

you always brought out the kid in me.

slapping me in the face with too-rude

things to say.

ah, but you never waited for anyone.

and i was always waiting for you.

and now i’m waiting for something else.

 

i always get what i want, you said,

and back then i was sure i couldn’t relate.

but i’m here, now,

and you’re somewhere i can’t see you.

i’m not sure you’ll ever ask

but if you do,

i’ll create roads of gold for you.

you didn’t come from that much money.

but your house looked like a castle to me.

funny how we turned out, isn’t it.

i hope you find it.

that thing you would whisper about

before we fell asleep

at night.

This poem is about: 
Me

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