I’ve been a long haired daughter, a barefoot penitent.
I hid in the barn thunderstorm after thunderstorm,
carried my bag of weathered books, nursed a cup
for hours in that yellow cafe off the highway. The
sun was so good to me to today, and my heart
jumped seeing the strangers on the third floor porch
laughing like nothing has ever ended for them.
Of course I wasted my time here; we waste our
time anywhere. There was that loneliness behind
my eyes even when it was spectacularly unearned.
Even when I had a million tiny hands begging me
to hold them, chickens to catch, eggs to gather,
bunnies to wrangle, books to lend, spoons to
share for a single vanilla ice cream, not enough
room in the bed. Alone was a feeling cold in my
stomach, but the reality was Sam coating me with
bug spray when I wasn’t looking or Abby saying hello
at the stoplight from her window. All the girls walking
past me in their dirty jean shorts and purple anklets
and silver rings and I’m one of them––except my stupid
sadness always has me walking the wrong direction,
talking to myself, just begging God to not skim
the surface of my life. Occasionally, I say I love you
outloud, just to feel what it’s like. Even then.
The air is more sweet than is reasonable.
I want to forgive the dirt slipping from my hands. Yes,
here I wanted the wrong people, but never for the wrong reasons.
I feel like the city’s talking to me, walking backwards at
the lake and chewing gum, telling me Baby you’re the type
to leave just so you can come back. Everyday I think
about the two ways to say you miss someone in Spanish:
te hecho de menos or te extraño. They just sound like
what they are. The first sounds like someone on their
knees. The second, like someone at a window. I’m both.
I’ll never be twenty-four anywhere else. I’ll never have
a better strawberry than the wild ones we stopped for
on our way to a muddy hike. I can feel my summer skin,
the long days of emptier streets. My life is so many
cardboard boxes. I’m always standing in front of someone
with tears in my eyes. I was here. Even when I didn’t feel
like I was. Every once in a while I reminded myself I was
happy, and mostly I was not lying. Leaving is shocking
my system. I’ve swallowed the height of every blue
mountain in my eyeline. I’ll say it plain: I will miss
even the bad days.