Six days before my 13th birthday
I got my first kiss—
I was a cloud of pixie stick dust
and he was skateboard.
He’s even cooler now at 36
living from summer to summer
with his newest lover.
His is under-backwards happiness.
I drove them to Santa Monica
from Oklahoma—
I heard him say to her in Arizona
A thousand miles on one kiss.
Yesterday we talked on the phone
and he said giddily
they might make rent this month
or they might drink it up.
We didn’t say a word about how
I know he’s lost—
sadness is a kind of judgement
and we know better.
Last thing he said was, To find
your dolphin name, lick
your fingertips and rub a balloon.
Like I was still a pixie.
--