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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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Bones of the rain Wind shrieks, whistles And I remember All the world was bones Dry, hollow, shaking Icicles, like bones, hanging from the rooftops Sky like a gray glass eye And all the world was bones. Group home windows shredded light, shredded clothes
Boys like sheep, sulking, scuffling through their herd Dry sandwiches, wet spaghetti Strapped inside the walls, gumming music Repeating decimal of grunts and screams And I was never there, so how could I know? I only see you through a kaleidoscope of questions You always existed through paper and Velcro But I remember dark, shiny circles of bedposts Warm, vibrating nights, a buzzing brush, Books in sympathetic stacks, bindings ripped Rooms grew dark at bedtime, and I was afraid of outlines Shadows on my doll-crowded walls, cracks on the ceiling And all the world was bones. Kids on the swing sets, sunny kids Bobbing up and down, like bright butterflies on string Playground sand in early spring Damp, chilly, mushy sand, seeds and trash Sand on my hands—pouring, scooping sand Plastic pulleys and buckets heavy with sand Sand castles, Mexican child hands tugging. At the playground, sometimes, red wooden ships Crawling with kids, and rope ladders I’d never climb Sand-covered, sunset-bathed, dripped with promise. Mom in her dark blue windbreaker walked and walked Playground paths. Banana Man, Dairy Joy, Banana Split-- Mom’s hands, sweet like John Denver’s voice. Mom gave me a dilly bar. Bananas dripped in Mom’s hands. Warm chocolate, crunchy nuts. Air was mild. And all the world was hands. Windows passing by-- I will return to you. I will stare out the Amtrak windows All night in the transience of trees And a chocolate-haired girl sleeping next to me. I will stare out the train windows, my cares fading fast, Like the sun in my heart’s windows. I will look inside My friends’, my strangers’, my angels’ windows Homeless windows, wordless windows. My hands will reach out for my ticket of breath. All my life’s a train. I love what my eyes see. Light rushes through the night in my bones Look into my soul—you who have bones of glass. And all the world is windows. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
May 2023
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