i am 34
i am 16
i am glaring at you
and i have cried for three days
she won’t say a word

i dial his number
she drives in my
barefoot-on-pavement rain
the same water that washed away
my 16-year-old Oxfordian tears?
these are the tears
that will take me to Spain

that will bring back my youth
and allow me to say goodbye
to everything i have ever known

and when i send these
(as she calls them)
poetic texts?
they will wash away
when i put my naked feet
on the pavement again
on another continent
a place i’ve never been
a place i’ve only dreamed about