Two Balloons Passionately make out in the cold autumn air.

A widdled Cirle of Small sticks- Clean of bark and blond and light

Stationarily orbit a dark muddy pool of water.

A sneaker gets wet and Brown

Kids start to chase eachother through the woods

looking over a supermarket

beebing sounds, the sounds of metal and wheels

scanning over the days of fall

happy to be with you

He had a green Jeep

He had a red car

He had an orange jacket

He had a backpack

He had a surfboard

He had a beard

He wore suspenders

He had a brown bike

He had a skate board

He had a stunt bike

He had a grey jacket

He had an i phone

He had a haircut

He had a deep laugh

He made my head turn

I got my heart burned

I look for his things

I know he’ll return

I moved a little closer found a finger bone laying

I grabbed a tiny twig to move it on by

only for it to go into our water supply

We drink her in our tea and we cry her in our tears

the only thing she left us dances in our fears.

They pace around old cars and blow smoke.

I am listening to Neil Young in my bedroom, and see them from my window.

Singing about a needle and the damage done, really at that point I only really knew about the sunsets.

I watched the victims of vice. They understood the rest of the lyrics, I counted on them.

“We can still dream.” We would say in passing.

I remember the poppy seed sized spiders that bit me in my first apartment.

I remember wanting to bring down my stuffed animals and my mom asking me to limit it to 2.

I remember his overalls and suspenders.

I remember the new slang that he taught me and then teaching it to everyone else.

I remember riding his bike from my first apartment to his.

I remember waking up beside him while he was having a dream about meeting the guy that stole his bike.

I remember one of my bosses trying to seem young and fit by asking me to grab her a powerbar.

I remember going to the laundromat with a bag of sheets from my dying aunts apartment.

I remember one of my bosses telling me I looked like the kind of girl that ate a lot of ice-cream.

I remember his asian girlfriends.

I remember calling him Austin Powers and shopping for new glasses frames with him.

I remember him in my bathtub taking phone calls while I freaked out.

I remember plantain chips.

I remember finding a giant cockroach in my fully stocked linen closet.

I remember hanging out with these kids and painting in Crown Heights and then finding their box of heroine.

I remember a funny British artist who constantly craved pastries.

I remember baby-sitting and taking Gabe to chuck e cheeses.

I remember thinking it was like a casino for children.

I remember Kombucha.

I remember the YMCA Sauna.

I remember the bodega boys in Brooklyn.

I remember taking knife hits and feeling sketchy.

I remember friends that copied me.

I remember being frustrated.

I remember dating boys that had jobs I wanted.

I remember thinking I was falling in love.

i remember Sheila’s death.

I remember getting thinner then fatter and then getting thinner.

I remember a blow out fight that led to a four day retreat to my cousins apartment on Roosevelt Island with water colors.

I remember the New Museum.

I remember using an exacto knife everyday for 2 months and never cutting myself.

I remember falling in love with moments more than people.

I remember Ultra Violet reading my journal that I really did not want her to read and her making margin notes and tying it shut with green shoe laces.

I remember trash trawling.

I remember getting sad and lying on floors crying on the phone.

I remember seeing a former boss in Penn Station and not saying hello.

I remember going to Freddy’s and meeting all these awesome people.

She would swim free, immersed in the sea

Constellations continued in the freckles of her body.

Would she let the water decide for her?

She bodysurfs to the beach and gets out.

Stinging heat from the hot leather car seat burns her thighs.

What was it she would tell everyone?

What was it she came back for?

She slumps into her  seat stuck like a puddle in the road.

Avoided by some, played with by others.

Reflecting.

“Birds are very dirty animals and you shouldn’t pick up birds or any wild animal with your bare hands sandra.”

“I knew what it felt, and I knew I could help it out.”

“We all knew what it felt Sandra. The best thing to do is to let professionals do their jobs.  You could have been bitten”

“Birds don’t bite they Peck.”

“I am not sure you were listening to what I said. Now let’s get back to class.”

The entire day Sandra looked at the window that was now shut and felt like it was her cage.  She longed to be at home.  Kindergarten was such a bore.  She observed her classmates fighting over who got the jelly-filled Munchkin.  She was astounded by the number of children that didn’t understand how to use tissues.   “And blow,” she would hear parents say, leaning over their squirming child with a tissue. The rest of the day a yellow ooze clung to their nostrils and bubbled.

She did have a good time playing house, but she never got to play the baby, it was always Kylie or Carmen and if they didn’t get to be the baby they would scream.  Oh God did she hate it when kids screamed.

“I’ll be the cook, and make us some brownies.”

The boxes were fake with labels she didn’t recognize. “Where was the King Arthur flour?” she asked herself in frustration.  The kitchen gadgets were completely shot as well.  ”What is this junk?”  In a few moments, a boy that wasn’t completely there would start to grab at the crumby mixer she was trying to fix.

“Hey look, its Sam right?  You want to use this mixer right?”

“Gimme dat.”

“It’s broken, you are better off using this whisk okay?”

It was no use he was starting to scream, why were people so impatient she was trying to get it to work looking for the plug that might connect it to power.

“Sandra you have been playing with that long enough let Sam use the mixer.”

By now Sandra was completely used to this treatment, and went to the table to draw.   These people were so annoying, she wondered if it would ever end.  Until then, happiness was a warm crayon.