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Description
"Can you meet me at Middlesex?"
I know by the cadence
of your voice - quiet and choked -
something is wrong.

                                                       "Yeah, I'll be there in a bit."
                                                       No doubt crosses my mind
                                                       as I slip shoes onto my feet,
                                                       not thinking to re-tie them,
                                                       only thinking of the agony
                                                       locked in your voice-box.

Your distress signal is colored:
mixed gray, blue, & green with
black spattered across the surface -
family problems...

                                                       I found you then
                                                       as you sat under the nation's flag
                                                       that hung limp in dead air -
                                                       your head slumped low, lost
                                                       in your own thoughts.

Pain glinted in your eyes -
clawing its way out,
pleading for recognition -
I could see it, though
the sun barely made
an appearance to brighten your face;
we walked, each leaning
on the other for support
as strength and sorrow commingled
and hovered above us like an umbrella.

                                                        We talked and cried,
                                                        walked around the elementary school
                                                        and shed our age like a snake skin,
                                                        allowing ourselves time for
                                                        child-like behavior.

Were we 15 then?
I think we skipped most
of our teen years - -

Description
"Can you meet me at Middlesex?"
I know by the cadence
of your voice - quiet and choked -
something is wrong.

                                                       "Yeah, I'll be there in a bit."
                                                       No doubt crosses my mind
                                                       as I slip shoes onto my feet,
                                                       not thinking to re-tie them,
                                                       only thinking of the agony
                                                       locked in your voice-box.

Your distress signal is colored:
mixed gray, blue, & green with
black spattered across the surface -
family problems...

                                                       I found you then
                                                       as you sat under the nation's flag
                                                       that hung limp in dead air -
                                                       your head slumped low, lost
                                                       in your own thoughts.

Pain glinted in your eyes -
clawing its way out,
pleading for recognition -
I could see it, though
the sun barely made
an appearance to brighten your face;
we walked, each leaning
on the other for support
as strength and sorrow commingled
and hovered above us like an umbrella.

                                                        We talked and cried,
                                                        walked around the elementary school
                                                        and shed our age like a snake skin,
                                                        allowing ourselves time for
                                                        child-like behavior.

Were we 15 then?
I think we skipped most
of our teen years - -