Fair Flying

“Loss is one of the hardest things you’ll ever go through. The other is love.” -Maurice Chacchia, my grandfather. ---  Labradorite bubble, Royal blue balloon. As the moon rose, She did too. Last summer, A tree snagged her. Ribbon and bark entangled. Slivers of heart strangled. After months of struggle, Her skin crumbled, But she inhaled air and Ascended to Heaven. There, she met the moon, Who told her: “it’s okay To love the tree, But you can be free too.” Moon taught Balloon Star language, And she learned how To speak galaxies. Moon and Balloon Danced and sang And made a kingdom Out of oblivion. Moon gave Balloon Air, clouds, stardust And a promise In stone. But even stone Can fracture. The moon shattered Like brittle bone. Severed pearls slashed. Thorns raped And battered Smooth skin. Shrieking, the balloon Popped, sobbed And dropped.

At night, the jaw disconnects from my skull And flies out to join bats in the trees. (I wonder if you’d like me more as a skeleton, segmented and Without scent or sense or perspective or all this goddamn hair.) I think you despise the pink in my cheeks, so I’ll slice them from my face and trade cypress for pine. I know you prefer the flourishing hips of an aspen, so I’ll wrench the stem out from under me and sell it to the trees.

I’m not crying; These eyes aren’t mine. I stole them from a man who has depression. You can try to fill gaps with laughter, Or diffuse synapses with sugar, But don’t expect me to smile. I borrowed this mouth from a friend Whose dog is dead and whose dad doesn’t get Why she wants to move out so bad. Go ahead and sprinkle my head With fairy dust, but don’t be upset If I sneeze; this nose isn’t mine either.