day eighteen.

circa 1800.

-

she was always a woman

born in the wrong time,

a few centuries too late

for her heart to make 

an impact.

she would have liked 

to change something,

to have a permanent place

in an interchangeable world.

day seventeen.

chalk. 
-

he made chalk murals,

his hands always caked

with the ash of his art.

pinks and blues and

greens, sifting together

to form grey coating against

his working palms.

he drew a rising sun,

unfolding from the sidewalk,

to shine on forgotten flower beds.

he snuck into playgrounds

of inner-city schools,

to draw happy pictures,

something beautiful

for children who lived

in a world of locks

to wake up to.

and one night,

he crept into your driveway

and drew a woman with bare shoulders,

her back a graceful arch

her hair, fiery red

whipping around in

imaginary wind.

day sixteen.

missed.

-

her aunt told her that they were the kind of women

that make men fall in love with them

soft

and lovely

and light

she told her that she had it,

that thing that sends men spinning.

said that it was in her blood, her eyes.

she said it wasn't conscious,

wasn't to be abused,

that it was wrong

to try to lure in a man

who had no choice. 

her aunt tells her that one day, she too

will make men kneel at her feet.

it was never something

any of them wanted,

five sisters,

women scorned,

losing in love

with the only men

who ever mattered.

the next day, she kisses her aunt 

and steps outside. looks across the wall 

at the boy with shining eyes and ringing laugh,

and thinks that the gift missed her. 

day fifteen.

skyla. 

-

this is for you

not just for you

but for me too

memories taken down

onto paper,

made alive 

a second time.

summers on 

wrap-around couches

and writing on backs,

t-shirts pulled up

over heads.

feet burnt on asphalt,

and pizza,

and too many kids for one place

but making it work.

a short

yellow jumpsuit 

worn every other day

and chlorine-gobbled

hair.

further back.

homemade play-dough

and cupcakes,

burnt carpet 

and purple hands

on a plate.

old home videos

of easter morning,

shared candy

and snickering

under beds.

long hair

and disney movies

and falling asleep

before new years.

seventeen years.

seventeen memories.

seventeen kisses. 

day fourteen.

love songs.
-

she asked her mother

once

why every song

on the radio

was about love.

her mother told her

it was because love

was the most 

important thing

in the entire world. 

she still thinks

about it,

every time

she twists 

the dial on. 

day thirteen.

tepid. 
-

she loved him

for his heat.

his lips were 

hot

his body was

hot

his words were

blazes,

his eyes

held fire.

so

when he kissed her,

hands in hair,

lips tepid,

she already knew

what he wanted to say. 

day twelve.

soda car crash.
-

they always

jinxed

same words at the 

same time, like

they were the same

person, one

mind wrapped 

around another,

tight.

same outfits

on the same days,

same interests,

same heartbeat.

tha-thudding.

tha-thudding.

tha-thudding.

jinx.

jinx.

jinx.

their last jinx

was turning
at the same time.