Paper

There are moments when I am flimsy
As a piece of paper—
Ghost white, disregarded, and smeared with the ink
Of past mistakes.
In these instances, I blow crazy in the breeze
And dance unfettered of bone and heart and muscle,
Until I land in a pothole, filled with yesterday’s rain,
And soak in it like a grimy baptismal.
Then the moment is over,
And days come like they always do:
Wake, shower, check the weather and fill the day
With tiny crises to make the enormity of the normality bearable.
But stuck between all the humdrum,
Squeezed in with all the bullshit and broken glass,
There is always the chance I will see you,
And remember the time, standing in the front yard,
You looked up and asked,
“So, are you going to kiss me now?”
Then you leave and once again
I turn into a piece of paper.