Monday, March 31, 2014

If The World Was Flat

If the world was flat, I would ask you why. But then I would have to wait. I would have to wait for you to come up ten million different reasons as to why the world isn't really flat. Because that's what you do, or at least that's what I think I thought you do. So I'm not going to. I'm not going to ask you why. I know the world is not flat. I've known that for a while. But if you had humoured me, just for a second, we wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be here. You had the power to make me believe that the world is in fact flat. You had it, on your doorstep, in your hands, yet you threw it all away. You see, all I needed was a second, because maybe, in that second, I would have dared to ask you why. But then I would have had to wait. And I don't want to.

I don't want to wait for the sun to set behind our hypothetical horizon, for the poet to write a poem with our unspoken words. I don't want to wait for spring to turn into summer, autumn into winter. Because if I do, if I do wait, I would be running against gravity, and as much as I want to, run against it, as much as it thrills me to do the opposite of what needs to be done, that's not the natural order of things. Running against gravity is dangerous. Like riding a roller coaster without putting a seat belt on. Or skinny dipping at night in an uncharted ocean. It's dangerous, I get that, but isn't fear life's twisted way of telling us that something is worth diving into, and worth waiting for? So really, shouldn't we all be running against gravity?

But then it comes back full circle. Because if what you're waiting for was never even there to begin with, then maybe the problem was that I never bothered to ask you why in the first place. And I would have. If the world was flat, I would have asked. But then I would have had to wait.

And I don't want to.

Monday, March 17, 2014

When I Was Eleven

When I was eleven, I told my mum
I wanted to be twenty seven. She said
"Child, you've got to appreciate life
one day at a time. Treasure it,
make sure it's worth the climb."

When I was twelve, I found a book,
in a library, on a shelf. It said
"Poor are those who do not have
enough time to smile, for smiling
is what makes this life worthwhile."

When I was thirteen, I stumbled on
a place in between, what I know
and what I still have to discover,
a hummingbird in reverse,
way too excited to hover.

When I was fourteen, I watched
a movie on the big screen. Boy
meets girl and then girl died.
But that is no excuse for not
opening your heart open wide.

When I was fifteen, a fortune cookie
from an old vending machine told me
that rivers need springs, that if you
want to get anywhere, you've got
to grow yourself a pair of wings.

So I did.

And now here we are, ten years later,
small talking with a mediocre translator.
I call home at twenty o' seven, wishing
I could go back to when I was eleven.