Saturday, June 18, 2011

Catching Sparks

Cute boy from the third grade, I blame you for my obsession with baby blues. Now, everywhere I look, I see sky-colored eyes, bright and inviting, and I wonder who chose you. In you, I saw a brilliant but misguided spark that could flame one moment and smolder at the next.

You chased me for hours across asphalt trying to land a sloppy kiss on my lips and I slipped lists of my adorations into your backpack. We ate acorns crushed by cars in the street, played tag and hide and seek under the trees, and tortured our little brothers mercilessly. When your friends came, I suddenly became a little girl, shy and shunned by your revelry. But in my backyard, I would cling to you, tackling in the grass, racing against your fast legs.

I drew close to you like a moth, fluttering but ugly in my approach. You liked my best friend for her blonde hair even though I lay my heart bare to you. You trampled it. No one could carry me like a phoenix from those ashes.

I wish I could say I learned to swim in your pool, but I almost drowned in it one summer. I swallowed so much water I thought I would die, looking up into blue shadows. I wish I could say you rescued me, but that would be a beautiful lie.

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