Poetry - Selections from The White Crow v1, i3

You have only been
to the sea twice
but you write
as if you lived there.
There is cold salt
water
running through you,
or so you say.
You sing of ships
and storms
and straining bodies,
of some sort
of adventure.
You bask in the tide
you can't quite remember,
swimming in the open
waters
of wishful
thinking.

mary says
her prozac year
was her worst

says
she'd rather fell
suicidal
than fell
nothing at all

tells me
she'll always hate
her parents
for everything

says it's nice
to be able to hate
again

In hysterics, we danced as we
crashed the Chinese New Year's Ball.
You taught me how to waltz.
Blushing, I listened
to your best friend ask me
if you were opening up sexually.
I told him there was no problem.
I remember when we fulfilled
the prophecy of your horoscope
by sharing champagne at the
fireplace at the end of the week.
We even toasted marshmallows.
Nervous, I stood in the amphitheater
and serenaded you.
I'm sure I sang off key, but
you said you loved my voice.
You gave me a long-stemmed rose
when you made me dinner,
when we went downtown,
when you came back from church.
I kept those roses.
Teeth chattering, we sat on a tire
and kissed at the playground at
midnight.
It was bitter cold, but I didn't care.
The thought of you
puts a sparkle in my eye
and I can't help but smile
whenever i see you.
How could I not love you?

Emily Dickenson folded her poems into little packets
that eventually became published as large encompassing editions
Men have larger hands than women

Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 3 in G Major.
Augustin Dumay's playing like ice melting in
the dawn's rising sun. I turn the volume higher
and say to her, if you listen carefully you can
actually hear him breathing. A quizzical
expression drifts across her face as she asks,
"Why would I want to hear that?"