Orange Juice

Came out sassier than I intended. Sounds like me at fifteen, so ok poem I guess. 

you said we’d still be here
when I’m twenty-five
asphalt and midnight
so where’s your orange juice
now, my boy?
will you stretch yourself
again across the sky
to reach for my eyes and
seek out my empty approval
in the warm summer night?

you won’t.

so why
should’ve I
held my tongue and carried on
with your childish ideals
that our platonic union
would last
forever?

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A Day in Summer, Many Years Ago

sweating bullets
eighty-five degrees
Bristol, Tennessee,
thighs searing on the
baby blue leather seats
the inside paint job is
soft, girlie pink,
but the outside finish
of Pa’s old truck is katydid green,
flying down the interstate
window vents cranked out,
my grandmother’s lead foot
the guide of this clunky Ford,
a sip of sticky Mellow Yellow
a glance back
through big square mirrors,
a ridiculous menagerie
of furniture in the bed,
tied haphazard
with rough, white ropes.

A Little Girl Again

after one week of wandering
I’ve come round to you
a little girl again, sitting
on my bed at dusk
drinking juice
daydreaming, please
just talk to me,
my rainbow manicure
from the orphanage, tipsy
after draft beers
expensive queso
blue skies by the harbor,
the strong smells and loud songs
of a five day market
that went swirling by
in one single morning,
won’t you ask me,
why I’m like a child again,
or who has done
such a thing to my heart?
magpies and eccles cakes
the smittens
repeating again and again
oh, the night is long
I’ve come round to something,
like first, new love
fourteen under the moonlight
refused to be alone
without him,
or summer’s nostalgia
salted watermelons
patriotic rocket popsicles
on that misshapen back step,
swish-swish-thap of my bedroom fan
fireflies in the cool green grass
childhood and happiness.

I wrote this poem today after a beautiful morning at the five-day market, an afternoon playing with kids at an orphanage, and burritos and beer to top it off.  I spent a few weeks in February and through March feeling afraid of the future and doubtful of my abilities to pick myself back up after disappointment to start again. This poem begins with my realization that things change quickly in good ways sometimes, delving into my wonderful day, and finally taking this amazing feeling into some lovely nostalgia about my fourteenth summer (of puppy love, dashboard confessional, and the smittens, haha), and then into my early summer memories from when I was around five or six. I hope you can still enjoy this more personal piece and not suffer too greatly from my lack of inspiration as this challenge wears on haha.