Mark
I feel her all around me
all the time,
her arms like tentacles
her voice, nails on the blackboard.
I used to want her
beside me,
her legs across the stick
shift, pearl white from skirt to boot.
When she turned toward me
they parted and I could see
the dark space between them, as
inviting as that cave my dad once found.
It was inside the mountain, smelling
of damp earth, its floor
a carpet of pine needles
stretching way back into the rock.
We packed tabouli and pita,
chips and Coke,
and spent the day pretending
to be shipwrecked.
We were pirates, marooned
on a desert island far
from home, surviving on
next to nothing, beating the odds
Until my mom came calling,
clashing pots to scare
the bears into the hills,
and made us come home.
Then he carried me across
his shoulders
to the cottage that smelled
of wet wood and smoke
and lay me on the bottom bunk,
so soft I sank
to the floor, dreaming
of marshmallows.
Now, I want that kind of sleep
to take me away,
a thousand leagues away
from my life, far away
from Stacey and my mom and school, all
constantly wanting
things from me that I
cannot give.
Everywhere I turn someone is
expecting,
taking grabbing plucking
at my life.
Can’t they see that I’m like an
empty tank
running on nothing
but fear?