Do you know what would be nice?

To never leave that place

where the warm breath of blankets covers

my body

and muffles the sound of time as it tick tick

ticks away.

And to never come home, but

to stay with you

through high school and college-

where the heat of your hugs are always

present on my skin.

Like the pleasant feel of glowing honey

you stick to me.

Your words, they bounce and echo in my

head

so I may never forget how you feel about

me.

And your soft, gooey pastries

satiate my soul.

It would be nice, too, if math was declared

'insane' by the courts

and no longer practiced in the school

system.

The judge would say "Math is insensible, so

from this day forward, all answers shall

equal pie."

Pie, just like your yam pie, remember?

I gobbled it up so eagerly that my eyeballs

rolled up into my head with the sugar high

it induced.

That was Christmas.

Oh, if only every day were Christmas

then I could stay with you.

So, I wish the courts would declare my

parents insane.

God knows they need a therapist.

I can see it now; my dear old mum and dad

sitting,

so pinched and awkward, in the velvety red

chairs-

their words meaningless bloody noises

bursting from their mouths.

The therapist, traumatized, would flee from

the room and call security.

"These people are crazy, foaming at the

mouth, jibber-jabbering

in high, screaming voices. Mad, I tell you."

But back to pie

and math,

which brings me to

him.

He was saying something funny,

A lame joke about calculus that went

something like

"Two pi equals one pie."

And I laughed because I understood.

I laughed but he didn't hear me.

He doesn't talk to me anymore.

Not since we went to the movies.

Which is a shame because I

miss him like nothing else.

I miss all of his stupidly lame jokes that

always somehow related to bananas

math

or

science.

I look at his face.

My heart stops beating

and I taste the musty, fruity scent

that I had been tasting all along.

Only now…

I'm smart enough to call it what it is:

Regret.

How can you know

you silly boy?

I want to forget you.

I want Oreos

while sitting under the willow tree that is no longer

there,

since my grandma's neighbor chopped it

so brutally to the ground.

I want to sit in the shade there

with my sisters beaming up at me through

the

twisting vines

as the light of the dimming sun glows red.

Just to sit there and let the stories pour out of

my head-

spin out of my ears and eyes and mouth in

shimmering sparks that land in my sisters'

eyes and twinkle like waking stars.

To sit and pretend we will live forever in a

world of fantasy.

To listen to the song of the crickets calling

in the rhythm of enchanting night.

To not notice the chill of the dark settling

down on us

but to revel at the skies

and the feel of being at home-

of being snug in the backyard of our

Grandmother,

where we shall hope to live

Forever.