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Diamond fence boy.

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My mother told me to stop

and see what they would do

when I asked about their intention.

They chased me

but for what?

At recess,

when a boy finally

caught me (I let him),

he stuck my wrists in the diamond shaped holes

in the fence,

looked around at his friends

for a cue

of what to do next.

The thrill of not knowing

his next move

kept me from taking my tiny wrists

out of the large-

enough holes,

paralyzed by wonder

though instinct told me,

he didn’t know.

I imagined a kiss.

I might duck.

Would he ask me to marry him,

like John did

on one knee,

everyone screamed,

“You are his wife now!”

I told them I wasn’t, and

we went our separate ways,

just like the diamond fence

boy did for his next

move, paralyzed by wonder.

 

If my fingers were wrapped around wrists,

I wanted to catch,

we’d leap over the

diamonds together,

run through the streets looking up to the sky,

screaming at something, though

we don’t know what, running into the wind like it was a security

blanket,

the faster we run, the more it feels like

a caress we want

to give

each other

secretly racing, so that our heartbeats feel slower

than the pace of our feet,

throwing glances, tripping over curbs,

trying not to notice,

we

climb over fences — you’d

have to give me a boost,

swim in other people’s

pools without the clothes

we were sent in,

sneaking glances, tripping over words,

pretending we are new to the neighborhood, mom and dad

work late, so we eat their bbq,

and you tear off the crusts;

you know what I like.

Let’s go inside,

and dance to the record that crackles,

though the vibration prevails

like the secret

we aren’t telling each

other

but don’t

have to

because you trust me

and I trust you.

I don’t try,

but I know,

your wrists are too large

to fit

inside a

diamond,

so we just hold on

to each other’s

wrists

protecting each other’s

fingers from spreading

and getting caught in the

artificial

wires

from our past

lives.

 

 

Author: lauren

author of // key + arrow // a life + style blog aiming to inspire readers to make the most of what they have today without compromising quality or settling for less than desired {all the while convincing herself} // {austin, tx}

One thought on “Diamond fence boy.

  1. Pingback: 7 for seven | key + arrow

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