your poem (an experiment)

I stood there, tilted my head at Jyn Erso
she’s as self-sufficient as the clouds — a sure thing.
I look at the army standing around her
and think to myself, “How do her confessions live?
Is she ever fearful of sharing them?”

you cut your hair, endless curls now
bounce freely, centered at the top of
a polished crown and I long to touch
them just to see if they’re real.
but, I am not supposed to say this.
so, I whisper it to Jyn and watch
the stoic look on her face create a path
for me, that leads to the screen
showing a pair of numbers,
neither of them mine.

I shared your photo with my Mom —
“She cut her hair, look at her, Mom.”
she quips a bit about the flawlessness of
your cheeks and I smile.
“She’s still such a pretty girl.”
I agree.

we can hold past hurt, pain, and ages of
uselessness in the coils of our hair —
festering old trains, hooting for the next stop.
if we aren’t careful, we’ll carry the roots
of that ancient life into the next phase
of our growth.

I watch and wonder at you —
have you severed the harmful pieces and
sheltered the others that needed
a heart to live?

I know you have.
you are good to your heart.
I stare a moment longer at Jyn,
tilt my head to the other side,
and watch my number pop
up on the screen.

I was there long
enough to appreciate a poem
birthed from the air around
an army of fantasies and impossibilities.

I stood there long
enough for your
poem
to say
“Hello.”

Originally published on Medium.