I’ll read to you words you never knew you never knew
because I got tired of scrolling,
so I’ll recreate my dreams of buried treasures unfolding
upon a hidden staircase I won’t ever see,
unless it comes back, but who knows.
I didn’t want to do this,
and I’m mad I didn’t know,
but sometimes we can’t know unless
a bird sings hello and goodbye
with your windshield,
and you can’t help cry, and rhyme.
We speak the words and dance
the way we’re told, like old men in bars
teaching us how to tango
after drinking mimosas,
though you forgot you hate orange juice.
We all do things because the weather tells us to,
like drink pumpkin spice lattes and reminiscing
days where you dressed as secret agent spies.
And did you know you’d be holding close
to a life that’s old and bruised like a translucent ghost?
You must have known,
but we can’t be sure that the tree
won’t fall on you in Central Park
and crush you and the living half of you.
But sing Amazing Grace and let go
because children’s media tell us
things we mock, but we use it
to shape our minds.
And the colors of the wind won’t
let us forget our history.