Coda

a boy in my class who makes my day brighter

Coda

The way you stand after stretching

Line of your back under your shirt

Soft break of your voice when you speak low

The ending of something bigger than it seems

Or maybe not as big,

An expanded cadence of action

Maybe the soft tilt of your head towards the window,

Or the drum of your fingers on the table

Complete the piece

Let me look back on the crescendo of your silent music

Look

Look away, pretend you didn’t in the first place,

Notice the flower drawn in your book as if it’s the first time,

Coda

Chamomile, jasmine, gunpowder green,

Steam the same colour as it always is,

Every day, in three distinct choruses-

Blue fade to black, silver fade to black, black to black,

Coda

The little things become obsessions,

Swing and hit, swing and miss, we’re all the same grass in the end.

It’s the way you fix your hair and the certain lilt of words and maybe the cast of your eyes downwards.

Why look elsewhere when your eyes have every colour in them already?

Blue, hazel, green, look like they’ve been tossed in with a

Ship in a bottle and set free to drift somewhere kinder than here,

Coda