its strange for an ordinary day to become one that defies the definition. for an 18 to not just be a number, for 16 to not just be an age.For holiday break to be a reminder of what is not there, rather then who is coming home.

I have refused to go Christmas tree shopping for the past six years. My hide and seek partner and sugar cube eater is not here. His stocking is still hung, though I now wake myself up on Christmas morning. I am no longer jumped on and woken to excitement. I no longer have wrapping paper fights and escapades to find our gifts.

it has been six years, though I still can’t grasp the events that lead up to 5 p.m and the breaths that lead me to 2,190 days later.

but today I am going Christmas tree shopping and double the sugar cubes will be eaten. one for me, one for you. three for me, four for you. Because you could always eat more then me anyway & the cider always burned my tongue

no disrespect to the roses you brought me

they were stemmed with sugar.

but brown, from last weeks shipment.

I say

thank you sir. i would tip my hat.

but my bobby pins rest, as do my curls.

mylips match the petals

but not my cheeks, for i did not blush.

Infact

I was white as a geisha,

as the delivery man rang.

i had forgot you existed.

and I still dont think you do.

I.Pour out the pitcher

II. Break the glass

III. Collect the pieces

And IV.

it's sea glass from the kitchen

it's the time i lost my breath

i told you i'd explain

but there are no words to commune

only mosaics to create

wood floors- the beach

a running faucet

and suds of disgrace

lets play in the tide pools

tide pools of cobwebs

and crumbs from last night

no sand in hair

no grains to coat the unshaven legs

lets throw rice in the shards

and splash the dishwater down

it's sea glass from the kitchen

V. And I don't want to explain

i promised id bake that apple pie

ripe and rotten, crusty dough

parched leather

and too much salt

not enough sugar

your eyes made me burn

i tried to use honey, but i used the sap from beneath our swing

it rusted to an iron taste

but it didnt make me stronger

because your eyes made me burn

i sifted what was left

i folded in some charm

i beat it into a wasted form

cinamon specks, curdled times

it warmed me to a startling state

it was winter

but your eyes made me burn

and the promise was broken

but long before this

so

go buy a pie from a Girlscout,

make one for yourself

because your eyes made me burn

because id rather not visit the wrinkling eyes, eyes glued with salt turning to dripping sand. to depend on frozen blueberries in the early hours, for their welting skin to no longer to peel me to sleep.

rather ice my eyes with frozen bananas,wake me up until i mourn with relief,

tuck my ear to the pulse of the breathing ground, slither my feet until they come out from beneath .

and roll and roll to the marble of the mansions. the circus of the past. suffocate the smell of the freeing dance, pause the motion and press play again. and again and again. no stances between.

shudder until we fall, ice our mouths with the frozen breeze. ice until it pauses, until the mansions come alive.