smaller

we became increasingly fascinated
with the art of making things smaller--

1.
we all get microscopes
at some point--
mine was back when we lived
on main street next to 
the park--
i dove into 
the wings of house flies
from the black eye piece--
each fiber a back country 
road with corn husk eye lashes--
everything small is so so 
vast--

2.
when i was 12
my neighbor, my younger brother, &
i made after school
together-- stood
on the tree stumps 
in the front yard &
made believe we were taller--
traced the rings to remember
every winter the trees
had seen-- each go around 
the fiber of a fly wing--
there we perched on top of
the obelisks of our childhood--
there the telephone poles lurched
to keep up with the increasing
weight of the sky over us--
this is how you close
your eyes & teach everything
else to shrink--
this is when you feel naked
as a microscope slide-- 
i followed my own veins into
the corn--

3.
at school
girls got older--
     as is inevitable-- 
got lost in the hair 
of park trees-- hung upside down--
kissed each other to 
practice for boys--
it is nearly impossible to
remember the first person
you 
fall in love with
as anything more than a 
telephone pole to prop up
an edge of the sun set--

4.
there is a place
in my home town where you can
stand & look out over the high ways
& see everywhere
you had walked

5.
i have been there twice 

6.
there is a cemetery
in my hometown prickly
on the back of hill out behind
the church were most of us
were once girl scouts--

4.
the first time i looked at the
whole town it was
my neighbor, my brother, &
i & it created the sensation of
falling--
this might be my favorite memory
of considering death--
the cars rushed 
on the highway at the foot
of the lookout far below &
if you closed your eyes you
could pretend they were a river
ready to catch you--

5.
i have been there twice--

4.
dark the town blurs into
a crop of stars-- 
my best friend & i leaned up
against the hood
of my mother's blue station wagon--
listen to the ocean at
the foot of the hill--
we didn't say anything profound
& we didn't stay there very long
but if i could go
back i would tell him i loved him
enough to make a mountain--
i would tell him that sometimes
love makes us feel 
smaller--

6.
there is a cemetery
on the back of hill--
a thick torso tree
reaches up to greedily grab
at the moon like an empty saucer--

6.
the tree we all kissed under

7.
the blood moon
made us all climb the graveyard--
it was all of us
who had ever become small together--
my neighbor-- those girls--
my best friend who is so small
now that i haven't seen him
in years--
we don't move in the memory--
we don't get older--
we roll in the grass
on the cemetery hill--
we drink honey suckles
at the foot of the hill--
we kiss each other only long
enough to see through
each other into the
threads of our fly wings--
count the winters in our palms--

4.
this is where
we remain small--

5.
i have been there twice

6. 
the lips we all shrank beneath

7.
the words we left
in high places--

1.
the microscope we all 
became--

1.
the smaller

1.
the smaller

1.
the smaller we became
as we learned the places
we could escape falling--

7.
this is where
the moon is a saucer--
where the trees in the front
yard fall-- where
we walk down the corridors
of insect wings
in an attempt to 
become smaller-- where
we are each our own 
telephone poll laboring
to sustain the sky
from the ground--