Sonnets Sang on Roller-coasters

She stumbles, and she blinks.
Torn up pages of Sudoku books.
Cocks her head, and stares at stars.
She breathes, deeply.
But she does not have enough fingers
for any of it to make sense.
She never learned to play Scrabble.
Or Solitaire.
She likes to yank bushels of purple phlox
just after it rains
so that teardrops still settle on the fine silk
and she can wipe them away, and know that sun
always comes
in time.
The thimble never wins a game of Monopoly.
And strategy, they told her, is everything.
At Five A.M she jump ropes
and she counts until she runs out of stars.
And unreadable notes of overgrown daydreams
dance in the fireplace, until she runs out of jumps
to count the beat.
Because Candy Land was always just a dream.
And she never saw the point in Shoots,
if she had a Ladder.
Stolen ballet slippers
and torn hair bows
and chipping nail polish
and empty tea cups.
When her moon is heavy, she tilts the little cup
very low
and the last inkling of a drip fall to the rim of the saucer.
And now she can see her reflection.
And it's like playing Clue, if only she'd ever learned.
Because it's such a game, it is,
staring at herself, swimming in the blues of her eyes.
'Cause she never learned The Game of Life.
And I hear there are lots of tricks.
Maybe someday, she'll ride a unicorn
and understand why there are mirrors on every merry-go-round.
Maybe someday, she'll comb the knots out of her hair
Wipe the mud off her toes
Get to the end of the maze before she runs out of ink
to count the corners.
Maybe then, rules won't exist.
No one ever reads the directions anyway.
And the objective, is the stars.
Too bad she ran out of fingers.

Put This Poem Somewhere Safe.

A poem about poems. :)

I wrote a poem, once
when I was littlest.
It was about a horse
with a brown main
in a long braid.
And I showed it to my teacher
and she showed it to my mom.
And she tucked it somewhere
safe
and I haven't seen it since.

I wrote a poem, once
when I was littler.
It was about snowflakes
and how they melted on my nose.
And I showed my grandma
and she hung it on her fridge
safe.
But I haven't seen it in a while.

I wrote a poem, once
when I was little.
It was about flowers
because that's what my teacher
said to write.
And I gave it to my mom
for mothers day.
And she put in a frame
safe.
I wonder if she remembers
the flower I described to her.

I wrote a poem, once
when I was smaller
It was about love
because I thought that love
was something all poems should be about
even though I hadn't the slightest clue
as to what love was.
I still don't.
I didn't show anybody.
I tucked it in a diary
safe.
But I can't really remember it now.

I wrote a poem, once
When I was younger
about school.
And it was very long,
and my teacher put it in the hallway.
I wrote about notebooks
and science teachers
and laughing students.
And I see that poem, from time to time
where I put it,
so it'd be safe.
And I remember what life was like
back then.
And I smile.

I wrote a poem, once
last year
about light
and dark.
And I read it to the professor
who told me I needed
to enhance the characteristics
of my metaphors.
And when I was satisfied
I stared at the words.
And I tried to really believe
everything I'd said.
And then I put that poem in a folder
and it's tucked away somewhere,
hopefully safe.
Because someday
I wonder if it'll really make sense to me
like I said it did.

I wrote a poem, once
a few weeks ago
about changes.
And I didn't show anybody
because it's something that is meant
for only my heart.
And I wrote about how things were so much easier
when I was little.
How family and the perfect outfit
would make me so happy.
And I wrote about how I'm really not sure
why that isn't the case
anymore.

I wrote a poem, once
a few days ago
about my life.
And it was very long
and I didn't use many big words
because that professor, she told me
that sometimes, small words can mean big things.
And so I talked about how things change
but they always stay the same.
And about how I'm very lucky.
And very happy.
And even though I'm sure my mom would love it,
I haven't shown anybody.
It's tucked in my computer.
Where it's safe.

Someday, I'll write a poem
about my life, again.
And it'll be much longer.
And I'll know more words.
And I will have grown so much.

Someday, I'll write a poem
and I'll show it to the world.
And they'll thank me.
Because words are very powerful,
and that's what my dreams tell me.

Someday, I'll write a poem
and it will be me.
And everyone will look at me
and wonder how they've known me for so long
without ever really seeing me.

But right now, I'm writing this poem.
And I'm not sure what I meant for it to be about.
But that professor
who told me to enhance my metaphors
says that a poem can be anything
as long as it means something
to yourself.
And this poem
it means a lot to me.
Words are very powerful.
And I'm proud to have found them.

Someday, write a poem.
And tell me a little bit about who you are.
Because I could live a thousand lifetimes
and never know.
Write all the words in your head.
The words on your tongue, at this very moment:
panda bears
ukeleles
bamboo trees
nail polish.
And then after wards,
you'll know yourself
a little better.that poem
will be safe.


Even though not knowing for sure
is what makes the discovery
worth seeking.

Someday, I'll write a poem.
And then I'll understand
why I began writing
in the first place.
And I'll put it somewhere
where everyone will see it.
And a billion eyes will read it
and understand.
And in their hearts
that poem
will be safe.