I want...

I want you to know what it feels like
To have your first kiss
Those volcanic butterflies that
Stumble in your stomach
Stirring stand-still feelings that stop you from hesitation
I want you to know what it feels like
To drive your first car
Hands gripped tight to the wheel,
Trembling, quivering, head-on-a-swivel-kind-of-excitement
Thirst for the open road and where it will go, what-will-you-know-kind-of-feeling.
I want you to know what it feels like to hold your diploma at graduation
Finally fulfilling preceding expectations
Wiping from your face the condensation
Ready to take your first steps alone into the nation.
I want you to know what it feels like
To travel,
To meet strangers become family
To dance on wet soil, surrounded by shadows from a midnight campfire
(Too wild and alive to be extinguished).
I want you to know what it feels like
To hold a lover’s hand
To feel safe in enveloping arms, to feel topless and secure
To feel the electrified empty spaces between a fingertip to your lower back.
I want you to know what it feels like
To hold your first child and let them know that everything’s gonna be alright
That the monsters and boogeymen are simply noises and shadows.
I want you to assure them, with your caressing, comforting words
That you’ll always be there and they need have no fear
With your voice oh so near.
I want you to know how it feels
To watch your children grow old
Like daisies on steroids
Feelings your experience grow taller as your bones grow smaller and your love spreads over our family
Like a blanket for cover
I don’t want you to know what it feels like, however,
To sit in a hollowed-out church shell
Watching your family fill the rows
Knowing what will happen next
Drowning in tears
Knowing you were the one we turned to for smiles
Knowing you played the violin
Only because I do
Knowing your favorite sign was of peace
Only because mine is
And all those times I ignored your calls
I want you to know how sorry I am.
I want you to know how much I love you
And I want you to know
How much
I
Want
You
Back.

Balloon

Those words
Rolled around in her mouth and spat into her hand, slathered with poison and painted with provocation...
I know them all too well.
They stab like a tiny silver pin puncturing the skin of a rubber balloon,
It starts slow, the metallic point driving and delving deeper into the sphere
The globe bends and stretches, trying to accommodate to the fiendish play
And then
Just as quickly as she came, the pin becomes a perpetrator, an assassin
The balloon implodes
It withers
It wrinkles
It writhes in pain
Wondering what could have happened
Wondering what I could have done differently to prevent this from happening.
Those words
Wafted and whispered, warmly cloaking frigid neck hairs standing on end
I know them all too well.
I know that it’s better to let the phone ring
I know it's better to push you from my mind
But when I see how easily I was pushed from yours
A part of me wants to become blind, so I wouldn't have to live one more moment
Knowing
How insignificant I was to you
Congratulations on your marriage.
I’m happy too
Thanks for asking.

The Box

She stares at her reflection now in the mirror.
It’s so different than what it was…
has it already been almost three years?
Slowly her eyes caress what used to be her face in a photo adjacent to the mirror.
Now, the rugged reflection sitting in front of her
shows only bulges and dripping eyeliner.
Frigid, wiry hair stands stubbornly erect,
ignoring any rules of gravity.
Her withered hand nears her face
as a steaming cigarette is enveloped by two white, crunchy lips.
She inhales the smoke from that cigarette as if it were her last breath.
Again, her eyes graze the reflection spitefully as her expression hollows.
Times were easier back then.
Even the most severe fights in the photograph seem serene in this atmosphere.
She remembers the smell of moist dew on the grass in the mornings
and the cool breeze from the thunderous nightfall
wafting its way through the screen.
Now, the smell that infests her nose is a stagnant,
torpid stench of cigarettes and spilt whisky.
Even the air suffocates in here,
wrapping itself around this square box of a room.
Cars pass outside her box.
Her eyes veer from the mirror to the glass
as she allows a brief thought of curiosity to escape her mind.
Where were they all going?
She got up from her knees,
forcing her eyes to stay away from watching her body rise in the mirror.
She already knew what they would see.
The cigarette smoldered the pockets of air as she walked.
She neared the cracking door like a spirit to their grave:
hesitance overwhelmed her.
She knew who would be on the other end once the splitting wood panel was creaked open.
Even so,
the malicious cigarette was dropped to the floor and suffocated by a heel,
and she curled her fingers around the cold, brass handle.
Every twitch in her body became apparent.
The doorknob became harder and harder to turn
with each raspy breath that escaped her lungs.
She knew who would be on the other end.
The wailing hinges seemed to reflect her sorrow at whose eyes would be meeting hers.
She looked up from her box,
smoke fled the room like citizens from a fire,
and in an instant her lips creased into what seemed to be a smile.
She outstretched her palm,
exposing her unusually hairy arm,
and walked out of the box,
one step at a time.