(12/6/08): The Air Near Me

Riverbeds aren’t rocky or round
And I like the sun better than any of the other things
that come from the sky. Together
or apart. The rain washes me over and over again.

The piano keys dwarf my fingers
They used to, anyway, when the sun would shine
through the window and land,
catching itself in the net of my hair, stuck.

The insects would land in my hair
too. But I acted like I didn’t notice so my body
could be near his when he reached over
and plucked them out, a smile in the corner of his mouth.

The rain and the leaves are coming
down together but one day I know they’ll come alone.
No longer sharing the same particles,
they will go their separate ways and not talk again.

The grass used to be lush green
but now I’m afraid to sit down on it for fear that I would
sit in one of the patches
and get the dress I had borrowed from my mother dirty.

Even so, I like the stars sometimes,
and I lie back with my hands behind my head, a pillow,
and look for the North Star
But I start to cry because I can’t find it; I don’t know where I am.