Billy and Me

Painting my nails purple outside I found Billy waiting for me

his kiss

too far away from my lips

and the ach

to close for comfort.

I drew a circle in red ink on my palm

while old Hanson songs played over the radio

boring me

though still touching me slightly

like a ten year old with her first crazy crush

hip hugging

thoughts on my mind

and bare feet

in the corn field.

After sunset

when the ground cools

I sat down beside him,

my unshakable sentence


before the bright lights

of the picture that he took on me on stage...

Was I ever that little girl?

Who once wanted to be an actress;

I can still feel the spotlight on my face

applause in my ears.

I smile

the ride

in his pick up truck

a trick

to creep

deeper inside of me;

and if this were a movie

I'd let Nelson Eddy play you

and I'll be your Jeannette McDonald

and sing you

sweet songs

far into the night

under the stars

that hang


above this moment

with Billy and me



hours at a time

that the sun would never rise.

In a white tank top

I played the old songs

that your father hummed

on the guitar

that had been out of tune for thirty years.

I wanted to believe

that I was living

in the purple,


against my nails

Billy and me

just pigments

against emotion

and thought

and that photo

burning away,

the emulsion

exposed in the sunlight,


and dreary.

Billy and me

were something.

Palm to palm

his kiss

sweet and long.

I was a little girl

still saying those lines

and reciting

fabricated verses-

journal entries filled

too many notebooks to count

and my purple nail polish

flaking away

at the fact

that I was still a little girl

but it wasn't my girlhood

or summer

to hot for us both

that dragged us along

those dirt roads

it was those eyes

and my laugh,

it was those songs

and late nights

the pick up truck

tank tops

and night time dares

it was his kiss

my bliss

and my hand in his.

It was

Billy and me

making each other laugh

and those nights...


and the windows down.

I laughed

the silencing

becoming all that I feared.

The conversation steered away

to that photograph

and all that I had left


before the first day of school


and his silence

at the situation.

It was the cracked mirror

cross bread with the car wreck

that took away that truck

at midnight

and me



in his bed.

It was the end

of Billy and me.