Your piercing green eyes can’t hide behind
the black chalk dirt
and scars of time –
time spent holding
your rugged hands
over your mouth
to prevent the words
from coming out.
And your Earth-shaking screams can’t be silenced
by battered fingers
pressed against your lips.
For your eyes
cry out to every alley
and like ink on the skin
they stain the souls
of strangers in the desert wind.
It’s three weeks short of two years
since we played Tetris
in the back of our blue Escape,
with our plastic tubs
of folded black shirts and flannels,
mismatched towels and utensils.
We shoved the pliable goods
and bulky bedding
into the cracks between.
We drove 1500 miles
across four state lines
to an old city studio
where we unpacked our boxes
and replaced the furniture
we’d left behind
with second-hand pieces
to create a new home.
But even after two years
under the same roof –
which is the longest lease I’ve held –
I still get lost
wandering the side streets
too far off my perimeter.
And I’m still left nodding my head
when someone mentions a suburb
outside of my daily commute.
I’ve shared great moments
with the new friends I’ve made,
but we’re still comparing schedules
to make our plans
two weeks in advance.
We’re still relying on Yelp
to find the best eats in town
for Sunday brunch or late night Happy Hour.
But there’s exactly 57 days
’til we board the plane
to our old home.
Where we know without a doubt
we’ll be pushing our way to the front of the stage
to sing along to ’90s tunes
and throwing back Kamikaze
upstairs with our crew.
We know we’ll wake groggy-eyed
to a friend jumping on our bed
Then, pack ourselves into several cars
and take the short jaunt to Grizzly’s
for a burger and bloody Mary.
I know I’ll pull up to my family’s home
and be greeted with a hug from Mom
in the driveway
because she just can’t wait
until I get inside.
I know I’ll choke back tears
when I’m not nearly plowed over
by two excited pups.
But I know Mel will smile down
from the split-level stairs alone.
I know my sister and I will stay up all night
laughing about the Spring of ’04
when we unwillingly sacrificed
a shoe to the muddy Earth
in the middle of a cornfield.
And I know when I leave again
to board a plane to my new home
their eyes will tear up
and I’ll just smile
until I’m out of sight.
The Day Dreamers
Caught in the Sun
Sand Castle Queens
Buried Too Deep
Freckled Fits
And She Was
Part of Nothing
Escaping Envy
Trouble Is
Everyone Falls
“Nothing happened”
I read, with no punctuation.
I close my eyes and squeeze out a tear.
Until this moment,
I’d never understood how two words
could have such contrasting meanings.
“Nothing happened”
Is an implication of our shared denial.
“Nothing happened”
Is a threat of contradiction.
“Nothing happened”
Is a worried inquisition.
“Nothing happened”
Is a simple statement,
a reminder,
a reassurance.
I try to play it back.
But my memory is lacking.
I can’t recall the external exchange.
Only the internal back and forth between
my slowing fading conscious mind
and the alcohol taking control.
The scenarios that play
like a whirlwind
in my mind
are so far from my reality.
Or are they?
My body temperature rises
and I can feel the sharp
all too familiar pain in my chest
as I reach the most severe sequence of events.
In my mind,
I let myself off the hook
to cool my core.
I’m slipping.
Nothing happened.
I repeat, Nothing.
Is what I remember.
Nothing.
Is all I have.
Nothing.
Just Me, Jasmine Lee 