Hinton, Pt. II

surely it's you there,
standing in the field
over my family,
looking out on our nation
and on the crosses
atop the churches.

surely it's me sitting here
in a home I do not know,
next to the porcelain angel
and the oxygen tank.

I can see spiders spinning their webs
between the bars of the rails
on the front porch of that house
and hear the egotistical man
on the television.

the prettiest homes of this place
have paint peeling off the sides
and broken windows
and house incompetent grandparents,
and yet...

to us,
this was home.

you called me your spider lily,
your shooting star,
your mistress of the dark...

I tell my friends our stories,
with what friends I've had,
and I hate they'll never know you.
you at your best.
you at your worst.

do you remember when I told you
I'd eat the barrel if you ever left?
I lied of course,
but I hoped you had a kink
for desperation,
that you could see I'd change everything
for you.

I'm your damsel in distress,
you were my knight in shining armor,
I was the lipstick on your collar,
you're the rip in my tights.

so what right have I,
had I ever had one?

children we've never met,
let alone seen,
playing on our only swing set.

you know,
I can smell the butterscotch from here.
it wafts through the cracks of my memory
of this place.

it was a tiny pipe dream if mine,
become a writer,
do something that matters...
it was still big enough
to see my future out of.

but this place,
this is where dreams are laid to rest.
and where we met.
and where I hope to meet again.
and where wish I were right now.

the sun is golden
and casts his glory unto you.
you -
perfect, enigmatic,
and so utterly mine.

I wish you would read this instead of call,
you know my voice cracks
when you're upset with me.

I wish you would understand
what I mean when I say
I want that again.

hit me hard,
kiss me soft,
bring me back.