notice how the sun sets...

it starts to dip its hand in

a little anxious,

then the hues explode

each night when i go home

i turn around

start walking backwards

look down the street to see it

the same different patterns

over and again

this day, the kids shined

like the sun,

timid at first,

then their smiles came

they were proud of themselves

i was proud of themselves, too

now i know what it's like

to be a parent, holding the camcorder

waiting for the kid to mess up

but hoping with all you have

that they won't

now i know what it's like

to love someone else so much

you forget about all of your imperfections

and i watch

because

the sun keeps setting.

thursday poem

swimming in a stream

it feels like an ocean

but i surface

and then,

camp alpine

i was a child then

too young to know

everything

but i thought i did

the smell of pine

woke me up

if i could rewind

to any time

it'd be then

so i could tell

my 12-year-old self

to walk slower,

breathe deeper,

love longer

what i still don't know

How many licks it takes

How many looks it takes

Why the moon turns yellow in autumn

Or why autumn feels so melancholy

How death comes in without knocking

How death leaves without crying

Why the sound of her voice

Is never the same to me,

Sometimes I could swear it was

Just a ghost, just the sound of my

Childhood

How many years before the smell of

Your first classroom goes away

How many friends will die before me

How many will have children that look

Just like them

Why evergreens smell like perfect love

And why I know what perfect love smells like

Why cement hurts so much

And why it is always what I fall onto

Why the scars on my sides don’t fade

Won’t fade

And they serve as reminders of my mistakes

Why we have to be reminded

How the smell of rain brings along

Unwanted visitors

Right into my mind, right into my words

Soaks right through my clothes

Why music drifts in and out of sleep

In my bed

Of all the beds, why mine

i can't help it if i daydream in public

pedaling backwards

inhale, exhale,

and here comes summer

early mornings when

first and last become one

eyes are tired, restless

hair undone

my mind is elsewhere

everyone can see it

if only they could feel it,

too.

little hugs with little arms

when i woke up there was a breeze

bringing with it

words i don't know how to write

only feel

we walked through

a familiar neighborhood in the dark,

i felt so safe,

and people call it dangerous.

before i came, everyone told me

to be safe

never go alone, never look up, never be without fear

but they should have warned me

of how i would fall so easily

for those faces

their arms brush past,

just like that breeze

all at once i'm home again

home again.

home.

but really it's an hour ahead

startled, we woke up late

the clocks hadn't changed by themselves

but time waits for nobody,

never has

never will

plan--pancakes

plan--fail

nothing to light the flames

we ate cake instead.

but none of us complained.

i've stopped complaining about certain things

and maybe i am grateful for them instead

or maybe i just ignore them

it feels more like gratitude than anything

words from those who know better

i write them down

but they've already written themselves

inside of me, like they were supposed to be there

all along

i close my notebook, walk home in the sun,

feel the sun, don't forget the way it feels

i see photos of people i know in

the places i normally live

their noses are red and frozen

i shake in my boots.

la ultima semana

my last week in tehuacan is bearing down on me now.

i can feel it, edging its way into my bed at night, haunting me.

and then i wake up and try to forget about it, but it won't leave me alone.

in order to alleviate the pain/excitement/joy/relief/happiness/sadness

which is starting to feel more like an anvil of emotion, rather than words,

i'm going to write something for every last day that i'm here.

starting today.

conference in a small room, baptismal font filling up slowly behind me.

cars honking outside, american missionaries reminding me of 17-year-olds.

watermelon with lots of seeds.

it's hot, i can feel my hair pasting itself to my back. oh hair, why don't i cut you off.

but i change my mind again. other people's wedding pictures can be very persuasive.

another mexican party, as soon as we arrived the lights began flashing

i'm used to being a celebrity because of my skin color

but this time it was God moving furniture

loud and beautiful, followed with rain, blessed rain.

oregon flashbacks, always accompany rain.

I was the only one standing in it, everyone else underneath the garage.

lots of Mexicans staring, I kept dancing. Even in my ruined clothes.

All my clothes are ruined.

I'm glad, though. It means I don't have to take them with me,

I get to leave a piece of myself behind, the old self.

while I'm dancing in a circle with Mexicans who have hips,

I notice that I'm dancing too, but I'm not caring

about everyone watching {and everyone is watching}

just like the rain, I've fallen into a place

I didn't expect

And it absorbed me.