You climb the fence a rung and a half—one for each year you’ve
been alive, and I say, The fence is not for climbing;
you might fall down on the other side. But you say you wanna go boom there,

and I can’t blame you. You learn so much going
boom over and through so many holes.
You’re sure good at it—and at shaking off the mulch,

so good at arching your back, the grit in your tone enough to warn
that your spirit might feel safe enough to trust but not enough to
tolerate injustice, so I just sigh—

how am I supposed to explain that
the grown-ups made the divider up and
no one will believe I’m with you if you

go beyond the line where,
yes, I would watch you!
But you hear the tone of my silence and listen

to me. You stay, and
I believe you’re with me—
me, sorry for my bullshit. You, sorry for my plight—

I can only go boom for you so many times, if we’re
going to break each other out of this world some day.
But I will change my broken tunes to melodies proper,

for I am with you all the way.

first published in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine