I don’t know what I’m doing with my hands.

I’m smiling, sort of, but if you look harder

you can see the bags under my eyes are

filled with freshman anticipation for something

I never found in a film canister full

of twenty-dollar tequila.

Peter looks younger than I remember.

His hair is short and his beard is patchy.

He’s standing with strangely good posture for

someone holding a half-empty beer in a cluttered

dorm room after curfew.

Jonathan’s wearing the cap I got at Family Thrift,

holding that coat rack that wouldn’t fit

over the door.

He’s looking toward the camera,

but not at the camera.

Our bodies are all stopped mid-dance and

Jonathan’s mouth is ajar,

like he’s about to tell Kelsey

not to take the picture

cause we all look like

–shit.

the first time

We lay on our backs in the driveway,

a handle of vodka between us,

my fingers weaving through your hair.

I took your silence and

I wove it into mine.

I wondered if the stars were burning

but when I realized the sky was not on fire,

I sat up quickly and poured a shot

into my hand, half-expecting you

to lap it from my palm.

I extended my hand and

searched your eyes for questions,

but your tongue gave wavering replies.

I downed the vodka and

searched the stars for fires to start,

but the warmth was only in my thighs.

Pride

Jennifer was a Ninth Grade Gothic, curtains

of black hair shielding her heavily lined eyes,

but by senior year she’s been Born Again.

She sits across from me in 5^th period English,

and tells me about her friend Lauren.

“She likes girls and she’s proud of it.”

Jennifer’s unlined eyes lock onto mine.

“And she’s got a crush on Mrs. Cook.

Weird, right? Not ‘cause Lauren’s a lesbian.

‘Cause Mrs. Cook is a teacher.

I think it’s weird. A crush on a teacher.”

I tell her I think it’s weird and

the conversation ends.

I pick up Heart of Darkness and stare

at the yellowing pages,

pretending to read while I think

about Mrs. Cook’s lips.

History

Emilie is new,

so she doesn’t know why

I once ended up

           

twisting my ankle after

eating Kung Pao chicken with my fingers

drinking four Keystones and smoking

from that kid Logan’s pipe while

trespassing on Lake Travis at midnight.

And she doesn’t know

why Jonathan and I don’t want to

talk about Jurassic Park.

Or why we’re always talking

about Jim, even though we

never say his name.

Or why I’m still upset

about all the times he and Jonathan

or he and Kelsey slept in my bed

when I went home for the weekend freshman year.

Or why I still squirm

at the mention of tequila shots and Teresa Hall.

Or why I always

let someone else ride shotgun in Kelsey’s car.

And even when I’m

sitting with Emilie in the backseat

at 4:30 in the morning,

trying to explain how much happier I am now

than I was a year ago,

she’ll never really know why.

updates~

I've taken pretty much all of my old writing off of this blog, and I'm going to start putting more recent, somewhat polished writing on here. I know no one currently reads this, but hopefully that will change.