We fucked up.

Well, really it was me.

You just sat there all beautiful

Giving

Asking nothing in return.

You've changed.

But I changed you.

I dug deep.

Took what was yours.

I get what I want.

But you don't belong to me.

I should have thought this through.

I can change.

It can't be too late.

It's me that is the problem.

America, you were always great.

You leaned back

in that old knit swing on the porch

Laughed into your coffee

as the first of the sun brought

gold to your cheeks

It used to be like this

Us

We forgot how much we remembered

Before we took our separate paths

And we forgot about the pain

And who we were together

We even forgot our own name

The one we shared before the others came along

When you and I were us

When we shared a room

And used to whisper in the dark

I watched the shadows on your face

Until the light came out from under.

Bo used to salt slugs. 

I didn't like it, but I tolerated it because Bo had a zip-line in his backyard that led to the marsh. 

He'd put a salt shaker in his pocket and glide down to the swampy edge of the woods where the slugs were most likely to hide themselves from the sun under damp leaves in the afternoon.

I remember watching the little slugs, dusted in white grainy salt. Shrinking. Shriveling up, it looked painful. Those slugs were an open wound to me. 

Bo sprinkled them with precision. It wasn't for fun, he wasn't ever smiling. It was more experimental. Eyes focused, salting at a steady pace. 

My dress always covered in mud, constantly shifting in my boots to keep from sinking. It bothered me, but I accepted it. I wondered why I didn't say anything. But then, the zip-line was so fun.

You flip through pages of your book. 

Dusty knees pulled into your chest. 

The simple chore

of brushing loose ends away, 

as they keep slipping past your cheek. 

Your finger smudged with ink

from tracing pages.

Dirt under your fingernails, forgotten.

For a moment within a moment

you are in it.

My mother is alone

And I’m out here 

I hate I’m not at home

I watch her suffer from afar

I know my mother very well

She’s picked herself up all the times she’s fell

"Cause in the end it makes you stronger"

And I wish I could believe

That strength were true

But I’ve seen falling leaves

I’ve watched them brighten as they crumbled

And then the winter settles in

The Massachusetts weather makes you thin

Although you think you’re getting harder

And my mother’s growing old

I see her wrapped up in the winter’s cold

And she is tired but she’s thinking

And she’s trying and she’s trying

Her bones, they ache, but hell she keeps on trying

And she’s falling while she’s flying.