letters

slowly, we learn irremittable truths: lemons

will never be substitute for eyedrops,

treasures that look like trash will be thrown away,

everyone interrupts, and clocks

don't measure time at all. that time you brewed ten cups of coffee

the same morning you learned how;

that time you told your pudgy friend

that the boy across the road thought she was a princess (your first lie to save the world)

that time you fell in love with a cat, a teacher, a flower, a song







the noise and the tempest of a household disaster -- the shelves

join in, the pots, the pans,

the running water racks up bills,

glare of your father's mouth,

the one relative who insists they can sing,

incessant gale of the dogs outside --





all irremittable truths, kissed. you learn that there are streets hidden

from maps, that a haircut will signify

change, a resume will summarize years of your life, and

there will be awkward moments of curiosity as you catch a stranger gazing

from the corner of your

eye.





you will never leave it all behind, the depth of your existence

is slowly lost among the march of the living

drowned out by the vibrancy of colours reflected in each blink,

as their handwriting and footprints

press patterns on your skin.

second draft.

third draft.