If we were shooting stars we would be airplanes. We would look like we were almost about to touch each other in the sky, but in reality, we’d be thousands of miles away, not even knowing the other exists. And if we were shooting stars we wouldn’t be stars at all. We’d be clouds. Drifting slowly past one another and gazing back to wistfully watch each other fade into rain. If we were shooting stars we would be marbles. Tumbling and rolling past each other over concrete. We would bump and slide and escape the hands of all who attempted to reach us. And if we were shooting stars we would be infinite. We would burn and fall and we would stay imprinted on the brains of all who watched us. We would never meet. We would know of the other but never of our destiny. Our fates. We would watch each other rip a seam in the sky, disrupt time and vision, and alter outer space and it would be perfect. And if we were shooting stars, you would be my wish.
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Green
A single cherry tree
A hummingbird colored chartreuse and gold
Flying so close to my head I think it will land on me
Bare feet
Bright green beneath me sprouting between my toes
The hem of my dress swinging around my knees
Grass stains covering the silk fabric
I know they’ll never come out.
Remnants of
Honey lemon iced tea made by
My boyfriend coat the back of my throat
The smell of his old cologne sticking to me in places
I cannot reach with my eyes and the ghost of his touch is present.
I smile.
Chena Is Home 