The 90s

August 26, 2008 at 5:53 am (Poems, The 90s)

wasn’t that us in the ravine behind the school thick stumps streams skunk cabbage
damp earth, everything above us green, do you remember it was always raining,
the scent in that leafy depth always the same, dank, like caked mud on hands
and the hems of jeans

your room the blue mystery, you wrapping the coil of the phone around two fingers of your left hand, staring at the ceiling from your waterbed, your mother heard faintly through the line from your house to mine, a sea-length away, shouting at you to get off the phone, can’t you hear the storm

you’ll both be killed

me swimming alone in my aunt’s pool at night with the lights out, lightning, jagged veins on the wrists of a young summer sky, wet above, wet below, every word you’d say a penny in a small glass that girl was holding as she swam until the glass filled with copper and water

magazines beneath you, your image of me all strands of hair, seaweed, my eyes open shells, my mouth open, my shell a round open-mouthed vase in a cabinet behind glass, my soaked lotus heart unable to ask: wasn’t that you drenched through on the gulley floor


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