now

thoughts

what are you thinking about when you dive under that wave

cold water rushing through your hair

what about during each brush stroke on your painting

colors flowing through your canvas with energy and purpose

how about as the centrifugal force pulls your clay into a delicate vase

thin walls, a beautiful mess in your hands

what do you think about through each step of your race

or as you fly through the air of your jump

what are you thinking about as you travel to faraway countries

breathing in new air endlessly searching for the unknown

do you know?

is it nothing? is it everything?

is it calm?

thats why you do it, isn’t it.

you are calm

and you like that

moving, doing, running, being, thriving, living

maybe you love to think but hate it too

thinking is beautiful but it gets old

same thoughts over and over like reruns on a boring old show

nothing new nothing cool nothing for you

so you focus your thoughts on

the wave

the painting

the vase

the race

the jump

the city

thats it.

worries, cares, stress, sadness, anger, hurt

gone

there is joy in simplicity

maybe you like running away

you can’t explain it

but you don’t have to

you love doing.

kid

I was born in fall the time of change

I always loved change

I loved moving on

leaving it all behind

it was good and bad

some indescribably good some unthinkably bad

“wanna play” was my most used phrase

the kids poured out from their houses

we played for hours sewer to sewer

those were the boundaries

the only boundaries

when I felt hurt or unloved they loved me

it was me and the boys, thats what I wanted and thats what I loved

I wanted a sister but not a girly one a real one

one who would paint my nails but let me play basketball too

I never got one but it was okay

brothers were better anyways

we voted MVPs at the end of every game

he always voted for himself

I usually voted for him too

I liked him

he was my best friend

the one who taught me how to be fun and happy and fearless

he always sang how to save a life and that one about the sadie hawkins dance in his khaki pants

i loved those songs

we ate italian ices after every game

we built forts and listened to them on his ipod mini

we played for hours and hours and hours until mom called for dinner

that was my favorite

I never told him I had a classroom of teddy bears at home

or that I renamed myself Mrs. Shirley for my imaginary students while I played school

those were girly things so I kept them hidden

when the evenings turned to night and I fell asleep in a matter of seconds

things were easier, happier, simpler

then we grew up

he went there and I went there

we grew apart

then one day he came back

the memories flooded back and suddenly I didn’t wanna grow up

I wanted to play football in the street until mom called for dinner.

one of a kind

The painting was marvelous; the only of its kind

grandiose, amazing, expressive, they would say, but they were wrong.

paint was splattered, pieces were missing, parts were unfinished;

The painting was a mess.

she was hurt

she was raw

she was real

but no one helped or fixed her

because after all, you can’t touch artwork in museums 

it’s much too "beautiful".

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xoxo, jennifer