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In my classroom there is a little black road lined with scribbled cars stapled on. It starts at one corner of the wall and runs right into a big empty tree. The tree itself is just a sad trunk, one that has already lost all of its construction paper leaves. OUR OWN LITTLE HIGHWAY TO NOWHERE. Some days I announce this, wishing for a crazy cutout paper car to crash into a paper tree. Wouldn't it be lovely if I could just slip in. Wouldn't it be delightful if these babies could hear the sad dying humor in my voice.
Sometimes, my interest sits on the floor like someone else's dead fires. Which is mostly wonder at how bright it can burn and what it will look like the next day.
Some people are do you mind: We will take your head out for a spin & give it back (all shook up).
It will be no worse for the wear. Promise.
There was one, smiling, and me wondering how his angel smile could so disarm me as to want what I did not know I wanted. Maybe all I wanted (not knowing, of course), was the angel and a tree to lean on. (All Oh, slide against this.) All I could remember in the morning is that maybe there were wishing hands involved.
Sometimes, I can't help it.
Something in me: it keeps refusing. Even though I am aware inside my mind that somewhere in back I might have hidden a wanting.
One held his hands out to me, would you like a neck rub? Feet against mine at the bottom of the bed and endearing sweetly smiling at me; Oh wouldn't I? Of course I refused, afraid of what his hands might feel like. Next time we play this scene it will be a YES PLEASE from me. Just to see that smile. (Just to scare myself to death with delightful hands).
Look, I have done it all wrong, but still I would do it all over again.
And this other one, smiling at me. (Why are they always smiling at me?) Smiling, and me wondering how a body smaller leaner than mine could be softer. Me smiling, I like this head. I will take it for a spin.
Sometimes there is in-between. Which is where the least of my regret lies.
For most of the charm smiles: It is okay, you know. I am over the charm. You can keep slinking back in my sleep dreams. Hooray. Here that one is again, and me again. Sometimes I need to repeat myself to make myself hear. (Don't you Lovely me. Don't you But don't you Darling me. Shoo. Shoo, you. I am over yr charm.)
And then, (after kicking them out), another dream some night will come creeping back: one of you will smile. (My biggest fear is if I let you go, you'll come and get me in my sleep). The smile, charm. Wear me out -
Kisses. & will there be arms. And mostly, me all, PLEASE oh me please?
(Come get me).
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