Mr. Patrick arrived in Willmet just a little after eight p.m. on Friday, February 18th. He meandered around the village aimlessly, admiring the classic simplicity of the buildings, which were all dark by now. He recognized the quiet streets, the gentle lullaby of the rolling hills, and the grey stone church. Mrs. Barnby was just finishing her mopping at the bakery when she peeked out of the window to see the well-dressed young man as he walked slowly through the cobblestone streets.

"George, whoever could that be?" Mrs. Barnby called to her husband, who was currently in the back of the bakery preparing some bread for the morning. George came to the front of the bakery and peeked out of the window with his wife.

"Why, that's Thomas Patrick!" George nearly exclaimed.

"Thomas Patrick? No, it couldn't be. Doesn't Thomas Patrick live in York now?"

George squinted a little bit harder as the man passed by the bakery. "If he did, he's back now," George muttered, "and whenever a Patrick is involved, it's not going to be good."

The first day of school

is a big day when you are

young. You celebrate.

We used to walk down

to the beach. Pick up our ice

cream at the window.

We ordered from a

long list in white all-caps font

on a black background.

I liked blue ice cream.

Dinosaur crunch, was it called?

Electric blue hue.

I also liked moose

tracks. Peanut butter cups and

chocolate ribbons.

The store closed down and

I can't remember the last

time I had those. I

can't remember when

I had the dinosaur crunch

and moose tracks ice creams.

june third, twenty twenty.

a thunderous voice pronounces my name.

i exit my car and as i walk

the breeze lightly brushes my hair and tassel.

the sun’s rays warm my face and caress my eyelashes.

this is it.

this is the moment i’ve been waiting for.

i almost start to cry because

look how far we’ve come.

Once upon a time

I was a girl.

A lanky barely-teenager with a too-short and poorly-maintained haircut.

Who wore sweatpants and sweatshirts every day to school.

Who never belonged.

Who itched for more.

Look how far we’ve come.

I am a woman.

A leggy seventeen-year old with a flat-ironed bob and careful makeup.

Who wears a tasteful white dress with a sprinkle of southern style.

Who belongs.

Who owns this moment.

I will say it again:

Look how far we’ve come.

Welcome to the next chapter.

Welcome to the new.

i want you to be happy.

not this-current-moment happy,

not i-am-at-Disneyland-and-i-never-want-to-go-home happy,

not i-got-a-good-grade-on-a-test happy.

i want you to be happy

every moment of every day.

i want every day to feel like Disneyland and good grades.

but more than that,

i want you to have joy.

i want you to live a life you've always dreamed

and never experience stress

and laugh as much as possible.

i want every second to feel like

ice cream cones on a hot summer's day

and jumping off a waterfall and feeling the

cool water immerse you

i want every today to be better than

every yesterday.

i want you to be fully, undeniably, radically

happy.

isolation.

it goes against everything we know.

kisses, hugs,

handshakes, high-fives,

just standing close to someone

to feel like you are not alone.

isolation goes against everything we know.

we are confined to the repetitive walls

of our homes.

we have no where to go,

no where to be.

isolation goes against everything we know.

we try to make up for it

with screens and cameras and technology

but we long for something we can feel

that we cannot get through a screen.

isolation goes against everything we know.

purpose is lost.

why get out of bed in the morning?

why comb your hair and brush your teeth?

it's not like anyone would know the difference.

isolation goes against everything we know.

isolation.

it goes against everything we know.

my darling, i know it hurts.

you feel the ache in your bones

the soreness in your muscles

when you wake up in the morning.

my darling, i know you're hurt.

you feel weighed down by the pain

that you did not ask for.

the emotional scabs that still need to turn to scars.

my darling, get up.

i know you are angry and sad and hurting

but you are not finished with the fight.

you are resilient.

my darling, you are stronger than the pain.

you need to fight for yourself

defend your heart and your needs

and show yourself the love you deserve.

she was poetry

they could not define.

her lips were like lavender

her eyes like waves in the sun

her hair like crunching leaves in fall

her love like coffee--

bittersweet.

she was whom they left behind

free-formed, multifaceted, angelic and kind

in their minds she could be left

they were out of their minds

your smile is the world.

it is joy

it is heaven

it is beauty

it is good.

it is peanut butter cups

and fresh linens

and waking up rested.

and it brings me to my knees

every time

because i could make you smile

every day

but so could she

you never fail to

let me down

in times of needing you

oh, how i need you

i reach out my fingertips

reaching for something

i can't touch

connection, solidarity, understanding, empathy?

i wish i didn't need you

but i suppose i'll stop reaching.

let go of the ache in my arms

the numbing of my fingertips

instead, i'll hold onto myself

keep myself warm

i get cold easily

in the winter storm

i'll let you be the one

to reach out her arm

struggling to hold on

to something she can't touch.

but i will give you my heart

willingly

knowing you will break it

more than a little

more than once

because i know that on those days

when i am at my lowest

i will look around

and only have you

and i know it's not fair

to your or me

but you haven't been very fair

to me either.

when the dandelion finally blooms

it will not last

we always bloom before

we depart in the wind.

we are supposed to be forgiving

forgive and be forgiven

but i cannot

keep forgiving.

make a wish, darling.