Why do you think I work with kids who are known for testing patience?

Did you ever think that that’s my way of forgiving you?

The teenager walking past my apartment building with her parents

doesn’t believe she can bend illusion into a building.

Her silence screams to call over the rooftops for something to come out

of a place that can never happen and carry her home, just like mine does.

I’m in my living room weaving strands of happiness

I’ve been collecting on the weekend should come Monday

I fail to arrive to work with an open heart and mind,

having left it hidden in a can tumbling down South State Street.

Like her, I know what it’s like to have nothing but my will to zip-line

across an emotion with. I can see myself in her, and know in my gut of guts

that, like with me as a kid, she has no idea for how long she’ll

have to just roll with it.