I am taking my sixteen year old self
as my date to our ten-year high school reunion.
I am on my way to pick her up.
She didn't recognize me
when I asked her out. 

I wanted to tell her
that she needed to stop agreeing to go out
with people so much older than her.
I wanted to tell her to make friends her own age.
Instead, I told her I'd pick her up at 7:00 pm. 
I'm having a bad influence on myself,
but I need her to hear me.

I brought her a copy of Tom Robbin's
Still Life with Woodpecker, 
because she shouldn't have to wait
five more years to learn about
blood and the moon. 
I need her to know about 2011.
I need her to hear about our mother.

The reunion is in the same ballroom
where our prom was, balanced on the edge
of the sea. Ten years ago, I wrote a spell
on a napkin for a tidal wave, an act of
god, or something to come up from
the depths of the ocean to kill us all. 

Instead, my date danced with everyone
but me and here I am now
with myself, introducing her to
people who dont rememebr
either of us. 

"What shall we do, all of us?  Us
passionate girls who fear
crushing the boys we love
with our mouths like caverns
of teeth, our mushrooming brains, 
our watermelon hearts?"

She passed me a napkin
with a spell to turn us into
glitter and blow us out the window.
We both thought it would work.
We took each other out the back door.

She ran into the ocean
arms out like the Virgin Mary
of Reckless Abandon.