a girl is a gentle little flower in a sundress, making magic out of the golden sunshine with her two hands. a girl comes in all different colors. some girls are light like white peaches n' dry sand, and some girls are honey brown angels with fat, moon love swollen in their fingers. some are in between, hazy with mushy rose jam clinging to their mother's spoons. some girls are tall like fruit trees, carrying the sky like a hummingbird, buzzing around in the baby blues of cotton clouds. some girls have more of a curvy shape to their bodies, and that's gorgeous too. they're soft beautiful girls with bodies like beach waves, dying across the hot sand and throwing up the foam on top of summer drinks.
a boy is gentle too, as gentle as a girl. they're baby boys, scooping up their mother's love with their hands and smearing it on white bread with grandfather's honey. a boy is strong, mama earth made him that way, with the good sun in their arms, but they are soft too. they grow overripe sometimes, and when you slice them they drip like mangos. they've got the sun to look up to, not only literally but metaphorically. they spend their days watching the sun strong with his light, moving mountains and loving the whole earth. they grow up to be like him.
girls are angels who spread their wings above rose gardens and mingle with the morning dew. they find it hard to love themselves, sometimes. hard because they've got rich chocolate skin and hair on their legs and arms and acne on their faces. but a girl is a garden, even if she tries to neglect that.
so they're love dazed girls and love dazed boys sleeping on the mother's earth's damp hair. the earth reaches her arms out and hugs girls sobbing coins out of fountains and she loves her children in a bundle of sweet bread. the earth baptized two babies in the moon waters of the night sky. sprinkled holy water on their heads and sewed their heads together with a needle and thread so that they'd always be together. now they lie on the grass of Her garden, thick roses in their mouths, dreaming with the bees and the butterflies, children of heaven's fountain, and they die in their love together.
a girl is a rose. when you look at her, she lures you into her like a flower, awaiting a bee that will fall through the center of the earth and choke there on a sea of yellow pollen. when you touch her, your hand goes straight into her heart, and when you clench your fist and insist, she rots like a peach and grows weak within herself. she's got her hands together in prayer, but by then, she's already died across the gate, rose petals dancing to the crooked teeth of the pavement.
july 29, 2017
