A poem to That Girl

*like all my pieces, in order to acknowledge that the people were real, I'd have to first acknowledge reality--any resemblance to real people paces, and things is just as surprising to me as it is to you in this vast universe*

This is a poem to that girl
You know, the girl in the back of the cafeteria with heavy black eyeliner
The girl your parents would never let you bring to your house
You know, that girl.

But maybe one day that girl is waiting for the late bus and the two of you are the only ones waiting.
And maybe you find out that you have the same taste in music
And she smiles the sweetest smile at you like high fructose corn syrup.
You know it's bad for you because she's that girl but every time you taste it you want more.

And maybe that girl has some really funny jokes
That bubble like champagne in your chest.
Maybe you and that girl sit next to each other and english class and she shows you her notebook and it is full of intricate drawings of fish.
You wonder if the fish are swimming through corn syrup.

And to you, that girl slowly becomes Chelsea, or Angelica, or Kris
But to your friends, to your mom, to your older sister, she's still that girl.
So that girl becomes the subject of poems you write. Poems you know you'll never read out loud.
And you learn that girl wants to be a professional sports reporter
And in her spare time she wants to collect exotic fish.
And the days drip by like corn syrup.

You and that girl are sitting together at lunch every day, after a few months.
Your former friends warn you, together you are in danger of becoming those girls
But that girl teaches you how to put on eyeliner and her hands on your face make you forget.
You are the one who melts into syrup under her hands.

You're with that girl the first time you get drunk
The first time you get high.
The first time you kiss a boy is at a party with that girl
Although by the time you get around to the boy kissing you realize you'd rather be kissing that girl anyway.
The boy tastes of beer and bitterness.
You bet kissing that girl would be as sweet as the corn syrup smile she wears.

Your family notes you've been spending a lot of time at that girl's house.
You get angry and tell them it's a whore house and den of general debauchery.
But in reality that girl has nice parents and a big suburban house.
You sleep over and paint each others nails.
You and that girl and go out to Ihop in the middle of the night.
You watch as she pours syrup on her pancakes.


And then you and that girl are at the end of senior year.
And you are going off to Smith to double major in political science and gender theory and that girl landed an art scholarship at Cornell for her fish drawings. To everyone's surprise.
You still haven't told her how you feel because,
Sometime in the hours you spent eating lunch together,
And painting each other's fingernails,
And waking up next to her
She stopped being that girl you want to avoid and started being that girl you couldn't stand to lose
And you think maybe if you told her you loved her then you'd lose her
And all you would have left would be the sticky sweet of corn syrup in your memory.