My Name is Not My Sky

By Amalie Kwassman, Age 16

Inspired by the November '07 Poetry Workshop, "Hands"

 
my name is not my sky.
the stars swim closer to the earth so they won’t hear my sky
cry
but I’m still beating, believing, breathing
with thunder thighs
and stolen eyes
while melting mornings are mourning
never silent sunrise.
my name is not my sky.
even if love and being alive
never coincide
alabaster houses will forever collide
with struggling never explicitly stated but always implied
Never ask those who are living if they are breathing
Never ask the broken heart if it is bleeding
Swallowing my edible spring
while waiting for the real thing
of park swings,
spreading my wings
and exchanging wedding rings
still I sing
of the salsa dancer who left me her shoestrings
to dance for her
trembling
lost
just leave the door ajar
and do gymnastics to her guitar
but the witty ramblings of my hips
will never eclipse
all the sadness that exists
in never-parted lips of New York City basements
Narrow hallways
Pushing us farther and farther away
But
My name is not my sky. Anyway.

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