We watched this movie once. I can’t remember how it goes and you were little. I remember you cried. I don’t know what I said to make you feel better. I don’t do sentiments well, this you know. I have walls too high to scale. When you land on your feet maybe we can give it a try? I can wait and see how things go. To share a serious smile between us I will wait indefinitely.
Two girls there are : within the houseOne sits; the other, without.Daylong a duet of shade and lightPlays between these.In her dark wainscoted roomThe first works problems onA mathematical machine.Dry ticks mark timeAs she calculates each sum.At this barren enterpriseRat-shrewd go her squint eyes,Root-pale her meager frame.Bronzed as earth, the second lies,Hearing ticks blown goldLike pollen on bright air. LulledNear a bed of poppies,She sees how their red silk flareOf petaled bloodBurns open to the sun’s blade.On that green alterFreely become sun’s bride, the latterGrows quick with seed.Grass-couched in her labor’s pride,She bears a king. Turned bitterAnd sallow as any lemon,The other, wry virgin to the last,Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,Worm-husbanded, yet no woman.-Sylvia Plath
This song rests heavy against my rib cage.
I wrote you a poem. It started 5 years ago. I talked about packing my shit, loading it into my car, and shortening the distance between us. I was crazy and in love. So I did it. A few hundred miles outside of the Nevada state line I lost myself. I have driven across this country several times now. I keep looking for her. An olive fingered girl. I keep looking for her.