_an open letter for viviane.

“So tell me a story.”
That’s what you always said to me.
And every time I would wish I could tell you about a girl.
The first time I met her…it was awkward. And quiet.
We were both in the back seat and I couldn’t think of anything to say other than…”Hi.”
Because I could hardly speak like an SWV song.
But I promise I’ll work on it.
Maybe I’d say something cool like:

“AYO SHAWTY! You got cakes ma!
And today, I feel like being a pastry chef.
My hands could be the pin rolling up your back
Until your spine arches over sheets of red velvet
And it gets hot in here…No oven.”

But I’d never actually say that…
But with the nonsense I spoke she would fall asleep
To my voice like it was her favourite lullaby.

Or maybe I’d create a work of fiction where I could
Transform into what made you happy.
Sparkles and a unicorn.
And give you a bouquet of carrots.
I’d even wear gloves to do it
Because you don’t like people touching your food.
So I ask how I’d be able to cook you that Valentine’s day dinner.

Silence…
“So tell me something.”
That’s what you always said to me.

So let me tell you now..
A hippo can run faster than a man can.
Polar bears are left handed.
You’re not allowed to plow a cotton field with an elephant in North Carolina.
It takes up to four hours to hard boil an ostrich egg.

Or how I wish I could unlock my ribcage
To free the secrets I’ve trapped inside.
Just to watch them fly away
Along with the butterflies you gave me.
Hatched from cocoons of hi’s and hello’s
So the chrysalis they created could keep you safe.
Birthed from caterpillars that crawled like my skin did
When I realized we stopped talking.
I remember you telling me I didn’t fight for you.

And sometimes I regret how much I remember.
Or how I could never read you like the books you love so much
Or that I could never find what to say to you…
Like my words were your missing Archie comics.
Or how I hope that your grandmother pulled though.
And she’s doing fine chilling at home.
Then I realize that that was the last real conversation we had.
If you could call it that.

You always said you hated liars.
But I’m sorry for lying when I said
“I can’t sleep without talking to you.”
Truth is…talking to you kept me up for hours after.
Just so I could replay your voice in my head
Even after you’d fallen asleep already.
Straining my ears,
Hoping I could catch a stray whisper
Of your dreams past the static silence of a satellite signal.

And sometimes I still catch myself waiting for it.
But I know that those phone lines could never weave a safety net
Strong enough to break my fall
And my eardrums have retired
Because on days like this
I almost forget what your voice sounded like to begin with.

And sometimes…I still get those butterflies.
You can have them.
Along with this poem.
I remember asking you if you had a favourite.
So this is for you.
This is the one I haven’t written yet.