eyesofIris

Saltwater is sometimes
the only safe place to hide,
sunken under miles of ocean,
hiding between the corals and
schools of zebra-striped fish.
I whisper your name again
and again like a prayer
but there’s never any response.

Write the good parts,
laughing and writing,
poetry and open mics,
friends and black and white
pictures on permits,
IMs and emails
and CONGRATULATIONS,
YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO THE
CLASS OF 2022.
 
But then,

you trace your name
in condensation and
tell me i was prettier
before i tried on personalities
like clothes in a
thrift store.
 
the sun sets behind a
building in new york city.
 
we’re still buried

cotton gets stained indigo
from watercolor tubes i forgot
to close & the snow
melted long before i
poured the first drips of coffee
into an already-stained mug.
 
words pile up as decimals become

clay and muscles have memory,
so my fingers and mug will stay curled
in the last shape that you left them in.
you can walk away and never return,
but my wrists will still hear your name.

i am the glass of the mirror,
reflecting both the past and the future.
sometimes i am unsure of where
to follow, and even more unsure
of where to lead.
8 years behind, 8 years ahead,
another reflection of all the things