New Constellations

Don’t lose that smile keep the eye contact I know you’re forgetting to breathe

Your Sunday afternoon tie’s too tight around your neck

We sit atop pillows embroidered with a thousand strands of silver thread

Sipping tea from porcelain cups and pondering the quality of light

White beams bounce off your slicked back hair

I’m hiding behind a collared dress and my grandmother’s pearls

 

I’m jumbled like scrabble tiles in the living room cabinet

I don’t know about form and I don’t do rhyme it brings me back to third grade

A story is valid an essay is legit a poem is “cute”

That’s what the French say when they hear my accent. Parlez-vous.

Sorry, I tried.

They’ve had their expectations of us set since the day

we engraved Plymouth Rock

Looking down on the States for our deep fried Oreos, high fructose corn syrup

addictions and do you even study philosophy?

 

Cut the lights climb on the roof change your perspective

The constellations look different from here

Light a match set the candle on fire

We’ll take a walk hand in hand

Our leather soles on the cobblestone streets

It’ll mean nothing or everything or somewhere in between

We’ll walk past window panes and fairy lights and baby owls

Talk about Bentleys and Maseratis and things that don’t matter and

uncles and travels and friends and lovers and things that do

Stop and listen read the sign pretend you didn’t

Habla inglés?

One of us is following too many rules

Speed limit on the boulevard is set too low

Let’s get out of here before we cross a line

 

______________

à bientôt

Cara

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