Who was that teenage girl with moons
For eyes, who thought that she could pack
Her things inside a beat-up baby blue
Sedan and leave her self behind:
A magazine of CDs, backpack filled
with Kerouac and tattered love poems
to some abstraction (that day, a boyfriend’s
midnight spikes of hair) black nail polish,
glass bottles filled with cherry coke?
You had your life before you to screw up –
It was too precious to waste on good behavior,
All the right decisions. You couldn’t wait
To shake it loose. This was a time for mistakes:
Closing your eyes and letting the wind
Run through your tangled hair, speeding
From this southern state of slow contentment.
And somehow you still ended up right here –
Like a specks of pollen or paint tossed
Onto a canvas, a beautiful mess of color
And of life. But now the baby blue sedan
Is rusted out and life’s soundtrack
Sounds like silence in the wind.
The little left of the boyfriend’s spikes
are slicked back and wet. Admit it now:
you’ll always be in love with this,
the sound of pennies shaken in a jar,
the shattering of glass on tiled floor.