I was woken for years
from dreams it was raining.
I swear I found
a drop or two,
I know there's no explaining.
Dreams of ocean storms
or drippy jungle tents
I once woke with a wet forehead.
I know it makes no sense!
It wasn't until a few years later
I caught my brother saying,
It's kind of funny now
he thought it was raining.
As I climbed into bed each night
I ignored what mother said.
I never peed before I slept,
and so I wet the bed.

Little brown girl
with little brown feet
caked with mud
and tangled in reeds.
Little lovely lady
with callous on her soles
over thorns, and rocks
and hot concrete
only barefoot she would go.
And then one day,
I'm not sure why,
She gave a pair of shoes a try,
and since then there's been a change.
She wished barefoot goodbye.
Now she's shoes in summer.
Shoes in snow.
She's growing up,
shoes let you know.

When I was young
My mother painted
My grandmother as distant
And preoccupied with trivial matters.
A woman who could never
Even if she were interested
Understand me.
“That’s just Grandma Mary.”
We could roll our eyes together
After opening the pink dress or sewing kit
She had sent me in the mail.
“That’s just how she is.”
My mother would sigh.
But as I grew I came to realize,
I’m not distant and uncomprehendable.
The only thing that kept
My grandmother from understanding me
Was years of space.
The picture my mother had been painting
Was never of me and my grandma,
But instead of my mother
And her mother.

You asked
What being fourteen felt like.
Well,
It feels like when your teacher drops all of her papers
In the parking lot after school
And it’s windy and you help her pick them up
Chasing down every last one.
And then in class you help her erase the board sometimes.
But still,
When someone plays a prank
Her eyes are on you.
Because your parents are divorced.
And your brother was a troublemaker.
But was he?
He’s been diagnosed,
They call it autism now.
And so you TP her house
Just proving that she’s right
Because after three years in her class
She still can’t spell your name right.
And it’s an easy one.
And then she holds you after class
Because someone stole her stapler
And you’ve never stolen anything
In your whole life
And you don’t know why she’s asking you.
But you do.
So you spray paint her garage
And the whole school knows it’s you.
There aren’t any other suspects.
Because they know that your mom
Doesn’t even believe in God
And they’re pretty sure
You don’t either.
So then you’re standing in her yard
And for some reason the cop that drove you there
Left his lights flashing across the lawn.
And she’s saying things like
I don’t know why this happened.
I’ve always been nice to her.
She needs someone to look out for her.
The adults nod along and she says to you now
If you ever want to come to my house
We can talk or bake cookies and hang out.
And you laugh because you want to cry
Because she’s talking for the cop
As red lights flash across her garage
But you hope she means it.
And you write her a note saying
I’m sorry
And I’d love to come make cookies
But she never writes you back
And she never calls on you in class.
And her son is younger than you
But still he pushes you in the hallways
So you’re even meaner to him.
And now it’s not just her
that knows that you’re a bad kid.
And still sometimes you help her erase the chalkboards.

That’s what being fourteen feels like.

Please don't touch me.
You don't love me.
I'm not hungry.
I'm not fine.

I know the answer.
I have a question.
Where is the restroom?
I'm losing my mind.

Please never leave me.
Do you even need me?
This is not what I ordered.
I'm losing my mind.

I am driving.
Driving and listening to a song
About a flower that wished it was a tree,
And a raccoon climbs on my shoulder.
To my left there is a woman
Pulled to the side of the road.
Her face is flushed red
As she wipes off a white wooden cross
With a white wash rag,
And changes the flowers.
And I’m driving,
The raccoon is chewing on my hair,
And I’m wondering
How I’m going to find her a place
That she’ll be okay.
So I say it out loud.
“How will I find her a home?”
The song plays in the background
And I wonder who I even mean.
I think about the sad boy
From the bus stop a few days ago.

We’re all exposed beating hearts
On this beating heart we call home.
Our needs and motivations,
Radiate with every beat.
Whether we are looking or not.
Whether we help or not.
And we put up these walls
In our lives or in our minds.
But the separation we create
Is just an idea that gives
Power to entitlement and loneliness.
Despite what we tell ourselves,
We are not a single flower
Growing in a raised bed among others.
But rather a petal on a morning glory
That grows in a tangle of squash
And Virginia creeper.
Always growing, and intertwining.
Side by side.
On top and below.
From humans to nature,
From humans to humans
There are no distinctions
That are not manmade.
The lady by the road,
The raccoon, and me
Are all one singular life.
And not only in this
Suspended moment.