What You Don't See
What you don’t see
You see a pair of earrings.
Small and silver with black beady eyes,
blinking slowly in the sunlight.
I see the present my grandmother
waited three months to buy when she
was my age,and gave to me on my quince.
You see a shaggy, brown stuffed toy dog.
It smells of vanilla and folds itself
into the arms of the hurt.
I see one of the first goodbyes.
You see good posture.
I see the emotions behind a face as
cool as a winter’s day,
and the smile that hides the troubles
of a teenager behind a hazy glass.
Practiced over years and years
until it’s too hard to break.
You see a familiar quote.
I see the words that ring through
my mind.
More alive than the colors of spring.
Humming in a tone only confidence
can hear.
Trying to convince myself that I am
what they say.
You see a cellphone.
A small black and white box, that
keeps everything under lock and key.
The outside seeming to be as clean
as a blank paper.
I see the funny pictures my sisters take.
Recent memories and the old.
I see the first overnighter, the buzz of a
twirling ceiling fan, mixing the hot air
with a fresh breeze, the tinkling laughter
after the slippery floor catches
us after we fall, not very gently.
You see a playlist, musical notes and
the names of famous artists.
I see the voices, as beautiful and
different as twisting sheets of rain,
the voices that got me through me
through the dark.
Helped me enjoy the good.
And pushed my mind past limits.