Friday, April 18, 2003

she automatically thought about what she should be doing now
rather than singing along but
i feel bad because she can't sing along since she doesn't know the words
and i feel bad because i should've taught them to her months ago
so she is concentrating on her work
but i love it when she laughs out loud and whispers words to herself
i love the stars by her eyes almost as much as the stars in her eyes
and the click of her pen and how she had to borrow my headphones
and i wonder if he always wears a pony-tail to sleep
i love the look of him leaning on my pillow
how delicate his eyes are when they're closed
how carefully he took off his glasses
how innocent without the frames to protect him
i feel bad for him having to concentrate on holding them, and the pen
and i feel bad for the sun shining through his lids not letting him rest soundly
i am one leaf on one tree in the whole hilly landscape
with a cookie-cut splintered spine bent
over a yellow stream
i am not ready to dive in
but i keep coming back
and i can't make it clear
but i love the way
the pebbles look when i throw them in
like how i love the shapes on paper
and these specifically look worse than normal
because this is a rough road
but it's not as bad as if we had
to drive sideways on the rocky cliffs beside
he kept asking why i'm smiling
but now we can't see me grinning at him with his eyes closed
he's still carefully barely got his glasses and pen in hand
twisted over his knees beneath his arm under my pillow
his slightly parted lips during the drum solo
and his eyes are really beautiful like this
and now it's just me and dad
sharing nothing but genes and a favorite ani difranco line
but during this time we three have been one being again
and i felt so connected to two people in the dark
three voices strung together with night
three bodies connected by our hands, crushed on all sides
three faces pressed against the wind of our journey
three beings close enough to melt into
one mind singing to the harmony we have found

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