Portrait

You are the heat wave that stormed the city. You are absurdly important. You are a field lit up with glow sticks on the fourth of July. You are where you belong right now. You are an email I forgot to open. You are a brand new Beatles lunch box. You are the way the sea looks at low tide. You are a book I read so hard I could never return it to the library. You are smaller than a pebble. You are an urgent call for Life Alert. You are Tylenol and Band-aids on skinned knees. You are the wire fence that caused the skinned knees. You are an angel with acne and weed in your pockets. You are the mist around the river. You are an oral report I have to give but my mouth’s all dry.

You are tomorrow morning and cereal and stale coffee in a mug. You are watching the sun rise with a girl who hums Cat Stevens under her breath. You are digging your fingernails into your leg to keep from welling up because the day is beginning and she smells like mint gum. You are the reason I tossed a nickel in the fountain at the Japanese restaurant. You are the dishwasher’s voice at night. You are math homework I copied. You are chicken or fish? You are forgetting your name.

You are Saturday morning cartoons. You are cookie dough out of the roll and ice cream sandwiches at three in the morning. You are the shift from summer to fall. You are strangers running up and down aisles in supermarkets looking for one lost kid. You are shiny shoes in a window that cost 600 dollars. You are a milk carton. You are the blinking cursor before the question. You are breath on a window. You are sun chips and Doritos in the back seat. You are a catfish jumping out of a can of soup. You are watching the sun rise with a girl who doesn’t even have to try. You are falling asleep on her lap. You are so very lucky. You are where you belong right now.