distance (part twenty-four)

You liked the picture of me with my crooked smile, the one with the group of painted animal kids.
I wish I could actually say that you told me you liked that picture, but I have no real proof of that.
I have no real proof of anything with you.

My right is smaller than my left eye, and I can only raise my left eyebrow by itself,
and my full smile is noticeably crooked,
and the sight of your canines puts me silent and still;
But your full smile and the sound of your laugh sends me sailing into the winds of a wild tornado.

Torch me. Fire me into the sky tonight with the rest of the celebration.

Speaking of, tonight, I just found out that the use of fireworks in celebration of the United States of America's independence from Great Britain dates back to the day itself. Apparently, John Adams all but decreed that it must be so.
I also found out that the Chinese, after first using fireworks in hopes of chasing away evil spirits with the tremendous sounds, began using them for any and every kind of gathering--birth, death, marriage, you name it.

Tonight, through someone else's binoculars, I watched a brush fire start on the other side of town, and within minutes, the flashing lights of the firetrucks that eventually quelled it.

Tonight, I was not terribly moved by big explosions and crackling colors above the river.
Perhaps because I was tired.

But I realize that nothing that I observe in my life needs
pomp and circumstance in its prelude
for me to feel it keenly.

I should hate you for being so nice and ambiguous towards my (only slightly) subtle advances.
Instead, I am constantly pulling on my own reins, in fear of the rushing water ahead that could easily carry me to places unknown.

Be my tower.
Laugh at me softly,
Softly,
Pull my head towards your chest
And kiss my crown.

I'd love a slow dance with you,
Even if that just means swaying and rocking from foot to foot in a slow circle,
As long as we're close.

God--
Universe--
Anybody--
Give me rain again.
The heat presses in on me from every side,
and I don't know how much longer I can take it--
I need the closed-fisted air to shatter like cool glass with the first few raindrops.

Damn you,
I am beautiful;
I don't need you to tell me so
just to validate that fact for me.

But I want it; oh, how.

-Dana Winter