Hadley

Oleander blossoms fall on our city,
painting it silvery pink and dreamy.
But you're awake, sketching fiercely,
the remnants of a bad phone call
to your parents etched out in
violent strokes of teal and charcoal.

Pencil shavings on the floor,
paper cuts; girl, you're brutal
with your own feelings, aren't you?
And I feel sorry for the birds that
have to listen to your crying
in the early mornings.
They try their hardest to make you
smile, but after awhile,
they leave; flying off
while feeling unworthy,
like nothing they do will
ever be good enough
to send you to Wonderland.

Oh Hadley, take a breath..
You're as dry as a bone
in a forest of tulips and wild lavender.
You're a runaway from Canada;
you made it across the border,
leaped over the wildfire-tainted grass
plains and now you're here on my doorstep.
Oh how can I turn you away, ma cherie?
I only wish it were easier
to be your partner in crime;
your long-lost lover, twin
shadow, scarlet paramour.

And sometimes I can't tell
the difference between our
bright mirror reflections.
Girl, you're so stunning in your heat;
your last season rage,
Lebanese bracelets wrapped tightly
around your wrists.
"To write love on her arms",
you never were one of those kids, girl.
You used to say, "If I'm going
to do it someday, it's all or nothing;
not in pieces, chunks of fairy
skin, dirtying up the bathroom tiles.
Suicide lilies in my veins," you claimed.
"Blossom thick and pretty.
Oh I'm not a cutter, I swear.."

That always used to scare me,
hearing you say these things.
But now I get it..
I understand all the dark alleys
of your Canterbury mind.
With a princess brain,
you were raised in the spoils of
east Toronto,
but had a nobility all your own,
despite never setting foot
inside a palace on a hill,
surrounded by
security; wrought iron
angel gates.
You knew you were meant
for better things than
your dad's collection
of beer cans,
his obsession with wrestling;
getting into fights with
other neighborhood men
just for the hell of it.

And you taught yourself
how to fight dirty,
putting on lipstick
in the faded mirror
in your corner bedroom;
a cut space, no bigger
than someone's sick closet
filled with secrets
and suburban lies.

Oh and you helped me through
the confusion of
our senior year
when we met in the cell block
hallways of Clone High.
Raised in foster homes,
I was so used to being
pushed aside in favor of
a more interesting, beautiful child.
But for some reason,
I was more than good enough
in the depths of your
magic marble eyes.
Sin-colored, deep;
they held me prisoner
every night at around 8:45
when we would sneak out of
our cracked windows
and meet under the 7 Eleven
sign on West Keoning Avenue.

Dressed in army shades,
a cropped jacket, your
shiny midriff exposed;
girl, you're the sexiest
fallen angel I've ever come across
in my quest for acceptance
in a Brooklyn atmosphere.
Crumbling down, the city
of my youth was meant for headlines,
crime and money heists,
shootings on every street corner;
ringing out like blasts
in the night, a supernova bursting
in a million acidic sparks.

But we were meant to be remembered..
Well, at least you were, and
envy was never in my blood before
but since I've met you, darling,
this toxic feeling has infected
my once pure seashell veins.
You are my Aphrodite, even
though you claim to be born
under the planet Mars;
the deity of war, not
music and undeniable beauty.
Girl, you're so hard on yourself,
claiming a tragic horoscope
in your jasmine veins.
But still, you're my warrior princess;
your smart blood pink and dangerous.

And maybe I'm so attached
because you protected me
through all the confusion
of growing up an orphan,
drifting from trailer park
to trailer park; foster
homes lined up along
the chilling Atlantic coast.
But girl, I'm here to stay..
Make me your Aphrodite;
your one and only charm,
something to give you luck
when you feel like giving up,
alone and scarred by
past disappointments.
Harsh curse words are
stamped across your
momentous heart, girl.

But like clockwork,
your brain calculates everything
carefully, your next move;
escape plan marked like
horse-shoe dots on a map of
sad North America.
Make me your one and only
exception, your own rule
against falling in love;
shattered and
glistening on the floor.

And maybe I'm just naive..
You do what you wish every time, girl.
But here's the thing;
it's too late to take back Sunday
night confessions in your room,
shots of whisky,
tattoos on each others' wrists.
It's far too late to rip out
your memory from my mind
like yanking off that locket;
necklace you gave me,
from around my throat;
say you were nothing
more than a fling,
a night of fun,tinged
with Puritan remorse.

Hadley, if you're going down,
then you're dragging me
to hell with you because
for you, darling; I'd set
the trees on fire, burn
their evergreen souls
just to kill the little
white lies, secrets
they shed every winter.
Disturbing memories
litter the ground
but girl, you're worth it.
Hadley, you're worth
the pain of betrayal,
loss; missing my parents,
not knowing where I came from.

Blood and saltwater
painted our landscapes
when we were just sixteen.
The ancient gold bracelet
I hid in the crinkled
pages of my diary was
a promise, broken.
But Hadley, I'll find
a way to thank you for
saving my skin
all those desperate times
back in high school because
you made sure I was remembered,
when all I wanted was to disappear,
become the mourning phantom
in a dead lover's opera.

So girl, I'll find a way
to thank you for everything..
I don't want to wake up
one afternoon after drinking
sour wine the night before,
bleary thoughts leaking into
the dawn's early amber hours,
I don't want to open my eyes
to find out all this is gone;
the ghost of our kiss,
surreal and clean
like an Alberta summer,
dissipating in the sailor mist.