elegy for our manic pixie dream girls
and other ways to put out a star--

and so 
when you look up at the stars at night
there is a faint possibility they
are all already dead--
faint mouthfuls of light
spat liked wads of blue or white
chewing gum at the smug face of the
earth for lovers to mistake as
eternal-- did you cut your hair
short for me?
perched on the toilet with
craft scissors-- 
collect the hair in a ziploc
bag to remember yourself--
were you a martyr for me 
or for plot line--
how many stains of purple
lipstick on mirrors have you 
become?
who killed the birds whose
feathers you wear as earrings?
i met you sitting on a stone
by the edge of the steam--
you were waiting for me to
pull your name out of 
your own throat--
wrap our necks in mardi gras 
beads-- dangle quiet 
as flecks of stars we had become--
i came back to say 
i'm sorry--
not for where you are but
for what i let you become--
and i'll still always
think of you as
hopscotch in the rain--
i plucked the wings off
a butterfly and
wore them as eyelashes--
this is what you turned me into--
i think about the life
a star
and devouring their
dying light with a twirled fork
and a spoon--
did you escape with me because
no one asked you to escape into
yourself? what color would
you paint your nails if
you never knew me?
i imagine you might
have listened to cassette 
tapes when you were home alone--
ribbon printed with the voice
of your father who dug
his grave with a burnt spoon--
where are we going now?
the last thing i really 
wanted to know from
you is your real name-- no 
not the name you tell the boys
who cut your hair and 
lay next to you on roof tops--
what is the name you tell
your brother when you
say goodnight over
the vein of a telephone line?
the name you wrote
on the inside of your journals
in elementary school
when the window was as
good as a doorway--
maybe that's where you learned
to climb trees--
i didn't bring flowers because 
you wore so many in your
hair that i figure a garden
would grow wherever they 
decided to plant you-- no
i brought back the pages
you pulled me through-- the words
this story that you gave
me-- i want to give it 
back-- i want to know
where you would go if you
weren't just another sacrifice 
to bring a brooding boy to
a back porch-- listlessly 
smoking a cigarette--
god i miss you-- god i miss 
you-- 
i'm sorry-- 
i'm sorry
we lost your story 
for me--
tonight i'll harvest back
your hair from
the beams of star--
we'll make you a wig
and start over.