I didn’t mean to be meta, the mimosa (and eliot) got to me.

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.

Published by celinamcmanus

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