Wishing on Birthday Candles

On a star that glittered up above,
I wished for a fairytale.
On an old weathered penny,

Tossed into a fountain,

I wished for something called love.

That might sound slightly stupid,

And crazy, or childish,

But I hope and pray, still.

But I never tell a living soul;

My dreams, to the world muted.

When I am old by numbers,

I'll look back and reminise,

How my dreams became real life.

Until then I'll still wish on
Candles for magic summers.

Falling

Falling is easy. natural. beautiful.

You just got to let yourself go,

and take the jump.

leap then fall.

Fall.

No one's really afraid of falling.

The idea that one day you just might

soar is too hypnotic. entransing. beautiful.

for anyone to be afraid of falling.

It's the landing.

The crashing.

The burning.

The breaking.

The ending.

that everyone fears.

But I don't. I've jumped. loved. fallen.

Let me tell you, it's worth the risk.

Where I'm From

I'm not from where the red fern grows.
I'm not from somewhere over the rainbow.
I'm not from where the wild things are.
I'm from an old flowering crabapple tree, whose branches were
my steed,
my broomstick,
my motorcycle,
my wings.

I'm from short lived snowball fights,

and drinking hot chocolate to warm up our noses and toes.

I'm from clover necklaces and matching springtime outfits,

and homemade chocolate chip cookies.

I'm from swimming with my cousins after tennis practice,

punctated with watermelon breaks.

I'm from leaf forts, my grandfathers's homemade spinach raviolis,

and wishing I could travel south with the birds and be gone with the wind.

I'm from the land the government gave my ancestors,
The land of the Red Man;
I'm from the path they took on their way here,
The Trail of Tears.
I'm from the dirt that matches that man.
I'm from the hereditary rosacea on my father's face, and his father's face.

I'm from the bookshelf in the basement.
Through its shelves I have traveled
to Hogwarts, to be sorted into Gryffindor,
to Wayside Elementary, to read a story backwards,
to Boston to catch an art thief,
to Greater Greensward, to kiss a frog prince,
to Whoville, to save a whole town by using my outdoor voice,
and to Narnia, to defeat a white queen.
I'm from a line of bookworms,
and someday, my name will be remembered,
and so will where I'm from



*Inspired by George Ella Lyon's Where I'm From

Pretty Please

Tell me, pretty please?

No, you're just too young to

understand.

Am not.

You just don't see things
the way they should be seen.

Do so. The grass is green.

The sky is blue.

What else is there?

It's not that simple.
You just wouldn't get it.

A small pink tounge emerges

from a pink lemonade stained mouth.

The child turns and runs.

I'm left wondering when my childhood.
innocence. simplicity. dissapeared.

With first kisses? First drinks?
With seasons? With birthdays?

Can I go back?

Can I go back to the times where right

wasn't wrong, and wrong wasn't right?

Can I go back to a world where colored

reffered to crayons and paper?

Can I go back to the times when AIDS

was just something that came after the word band?

Can I go back to the times when the

grass was green

and the sky was blue?

Nothing in between.

No complications. No deportations.

No assasinations. No infestations.

No trepidations. No classifications.

No obligations. Only Disneyfication.

Just a blue sky and a green grass.

Please?

Pretty Please?