To My Teenage Self

i know you've noticed.

the change in your eyes, 

like they used to be bluer.

i know you've noticed

that something's missing from the sky, 

like it's gone grayer.

i know you long for me,

and i know why.

because you used to eat lemon clovers and wildflowers like they were candy.

because you used to slide down the marble steps of City Hall, not caring who saw as long as they didn't bust you.

because you stopped believing in Santa at age nine, but Champ is and always has been real.

because you used to give your leftover food to the unhoused whenever you went out to eat.

because you used to go outside after rain and move worms off the road so that they wouldn't die –

wrong place, right time.

because no matter how badly you want to leave, you still bristle when anyone criticizes your Green Mountain home.

i know you still care

and although your energy is waning

your wings still have some pixie dust left.

don't lose sight of us

just because you grew up.

–your childhood self