Extremely Short Letters to All the Versions of You
I am a child lost in a Kmart pulling on random pant legs like, “Are you my family? Are you my family?”
Suddenly you are The Moon and I am the tides and without you I’d just stop.
I pray someone lets my Jean Grey rise like The Phoenix from the ashes of my future. X-Men; amen.
Send my measured life into a frenzy like a wasp at a bachelorette brunch until I am fearless then immune then obsessed and rent us a one-bedroom in the hive.
Your light singes my esophagus like mystery.
I’m wandering through the desert carrying the mirage of a mirror and somehow you can see your reflection in it.
Your name is Cuban Pete. You’re the king of the rhumba beat.
Dear Cuban Pete,
You are The Most Electrifying Man In Sports Entertainment and your smile is The People’s Elbow.
Dear People’s Elbow,
Your favorite part about me is a thing I didn’t know I had. Like I’ve been investing billions trying to get to Mars and the final frontier is in a repurposed cottage cheese container next to the ketchup.
Dear Final Frontier,
You are fire flower paper blood and I am honey coffee water sun. Watch witches stir us in a cauldron and fulfill our prophecy as inevitable as time.
Dear Fire Flower,
You are smooth and specific “and fast and thorough and sharp as a tack.” It’s like I’m standing still while you’re “touring the facilities and picking up slack.”
Their trueness basura, your trueness horchata.
I will murder your exes with how happy I make you.