high school

I hold on to my desk
as the world carries its shadow around
like the train on a wedding dress.
It moves quickly.
It moves angrily.
It is loud.
I hear colors and see words shimmy on the overhead.
I see voices and hear the things they are thinking about me.
I am not myself and I am not like them.
The veins on my teacher’s hands know.
The backs of all their necks know.
The cop with his walkie talkie knows.
My crying mother knows.

I don't know anything
but that if I don’t hold on to this desk
I will float away.

I don't know anything yet
about how to hold on. I just know
I don't want to float away.

haiku at 3 am

your leg on my leg
forehead to forehead we are
like a bomb shelter

counting syllables
with my fingers on your back
half asleep poems

wrapping around each
other, safe from satellites
shot out of the sky

nuzzle in and close
the hatch, nail the doors up, wait
for the war to pass

your hand on my thigh
your cheek on my cheek we are
like a bomb shelter