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sometimes, you meet people who are storms
in bottles, who are ships cast away on rocky
coastlines, contained in a mason jar. sometimes
you meet volcanoes in human skin, earthquakes
with a laugh that sounds like skipping rocks
on summer colored lakes. sometimes, you meet
people who are whirlwinds wrapped up in muscle and bone,
who are more miracle than mistake.

i think about that a lot when i look at her.
to be fair, she is nothing more than me and you
but she has a hurricane brewing in her eyes
and dandelions growing through the cracks
in her sidewalks and i think that’s wondrous
enough.

i know our lungs are the same—on mondays
and thursdays, we both find it hard to keep
breathing and sometimes if i listen hard enough
i think i can hear the storms battering her shoreline,
but you could never tell with the way she smiles.

don’t tell her, but she smiles like the sun.
she smiles crooked, like baby teeth and morals
and the first time you try to hang up a sign.
god, she smiles and it’s like spring, like discovery
and adventure and hope all rolled into one,
like new and used, reliable and durable.

the thing is, i don’t know if she’s ever felt like she belongs
in the places she’s travelled and with the people
she’s met, but i hope she feels like puzzle pieces
clicking together every time she steps foot here.
i hope on days she feels a dickinson-worthy
headache, or a shakespearian storm rocking her foundations,
she is not able to count on two hands the number
of people she can lean against.

lean against us. him, her, me too.
this is your home now, and we will
risk your lightning and your rain for the sake
of your sun.