T̳h̳e̳r̳e̳ ̳i̳s̳n̳’̳t̳ ̳e̳n̳o̳u̳g̳h̳ ̳s̳p̳i̳t̳ ̳t̳o̳ ̳f̳i̳l̳l̳ ̳a̳ ̳h̳o̳l̳e̳ ̳f̳o̳r̳ ̳s̳w̳i̳m̳m̳i̳n̳g̳ ̳w̳h̳e̳n̳ ̳y̳o̳u̳’̳r̳e̳ ̳a̳l̳o̳n̳e̳

It was a summer without olympics.
I was chasing the possibility of being
understood. Behind locked doors
I tried and was tried upon.
Threw a party in my head
blue pen cursive on the invitations.
Kissed the envelopes, fancied the mailman
could feel my work as he worked.
Every time I didn’t hear back
I wanted more. I even missed
the future. My mom didn’t yell
when I came home with ripped tights
just said those weren’t supposed to be
single use.

B̳o̳y̳ ̳A̳l̳m̳i̳g̳h̳t̳y̳

Right now, I am asking God
for some peace of mind.
I am a good kid,
so He grants me serenity,
and you, a soft boy, with hard abs.
You wear a Hello Kitty thong
under checkered boxers. I have never
seen something so cool. In this heat,
in this stream, we can only almost murder
when Jack teaches us to catch.
Everything slips away like fish after guilt.
But they throb in your hand. Water rushing,
it has some place to be. I stand in it, tall,
and the hum of the day like finally.

W̳a̳l̳k̳i̳n̳g̳ ̳b̳y̳ ̳y̳o̳u̳r̳ ̳o̳l̳d̳ ̳p̳l̳a̳c̳e̳,̳ ̳f̳i̳x̳i̳n̳g̳ ̳m̳y̳ ̳h̳a̳i̳r̳

I admire the window, how unlike a room.
Such a beautiful window I think and still
only able to describe the shape
as rectangular. My favorite
outfit the glass reflects
back to me. Clothes I picked
then pulled on. The shirt ties
in the back and I tied it myself.
So you will have always once lived
there. Yes, there’s something
to understand. We must’ve been young,
saying things like I hope
I run into you tomorrow by accident.

Canon Mg Lake is a teacher, care worker, and writer. She lives in New York.