 Intimacy: Is vulnerability ?
There was a white piece of paper with blue lines sticking out of it
Waiting to be written on
A story, a poem, a quote: Just anything
So she wrote a poem
She named it yams
It was the name of her favorite food
Yams

It was only about yams
The texture,the taste, and the time of year
She gave it to her teacher and got an A
and a check plus
Her mother loved it so much it hung on the fridge door
All of their company had to watch her perform about yams
get excited about yams
That was the fall of the yellow and green leaves
everyone wanted to touch

And everyone got to touch
They got to grab and fall in autumn leaves that weren't here to stay
No one was here to stay
Mom and dad kissed a lot under the fall autumn leaves
The boy across the street sent a picture with a box of cookies
With X's and O's all in icing
She had to ask her mother, what are X's and O's
And later that night she had her father read her a story
The books were always about something to do but sleep

There was a white piece of paper with blue lines sticking out of it
She wrote a new poem
" As the Wind Blows"
because the wind will always blow but where does it take you
The adventure about being apart of the wind's journey
And even being the wind
And where does it travel, how does it know where to go
Her teacher gave an A with a blue ribbon too
Write it more clearly, it can be thoroughly understood
The poem was left on the kitchen counter for no one to see
Stayed there for weeks but the mother never noticed
Too busy with the lime green paint

The boys told her that everyone wanted to touch
They smoked cigarettes in hopes of cigars
like their fathers, real men
important men, unlike them
little boys
Sometimes they burned holes in her skirt
so she would take it off
This year the boy next door laughed
She wore thick glasses with black rims
that spun around the lens like a ball to a basket
She asked to visit the veterans
And the kids asked why
Mom and dad still kissed a lot
but not under the falling leaves but instead falling trees
The house was coming down
No more bed time stories, you're a big girl now
Dad got mad
when she asked just one last time
Last time was supposed to be the last time

On a ripped sheet of white paper from a friend's notebook
With blue lines sticking out
a poem was written
" Intimacy: Is vulnerability ?"
because it was how she reacted to boys
And that's all she could think about
Her professor gave an A

With an inquisitive look
who's child is this that I am teaching
And her mother never saw it
Never made it in the house
That was the year the boy across the street moved to college
And in the end had forgotten to say good-bye
To Penn State he went
She caught her father in the back yard under the fall autumn leaves
But her mom and dad never kissed
no eye contact, wouldn't even speak
Before the move to Penn State the boy across the street
Got to touch got to feel
made her cry after intimacy

But the intimacy carried on
Vulnerability was never found
And at two in the morning the girl couldn't be found
No story was told again, dad slept real nice

She grabbed a brown paper bag
emptied it on the floor

One more poem, she said

" Nothing hates you, Nothing loves you"
Because that's all that needed to be said
She gave her self an A plus, a gold star too
And grabbed the rope around her neck
Put the bag over her head and the rope above the kitchen
Like Brooks, but instead " Nothing was here "

Right in front of the damn kitchen she couldn't reach
She didn't think I could put it up my self
But "Nothing loved She"