Heat Wave

I miss the feeling of Cambodian spring

I miss the feeling of a Cambodian spring day 
stretching out
in front of me.
I like the feeling of my fingertips 
peeling a tangerine, my mind asking
who will I be today?
Because I could be.
As the world stretches out in front of me, I know
I could be anything.

I've been all kinds of good 
and the times I've been bad are so neatly tucked away
they barely even exist, but to my secret keepers
who come in groups of three:
him, the therapist, and the girls in the city.

The worst thing I've done before watching eyes
is played a sort of false innocence
all short dresses and slightly crooked teeth.
My friends used to point it out
when men on the street would look after me.
You used to tell me I was too innocent and too pretty
and to be very, very careful walking down Pub Street
and don't look like a girl who's after attention.
Only, well, I was.
And every time the air hazed over
and the sun rose over the temples
I had that same feeling:
in this country I could be anything
but the person I was meant to be
sometimes I'm still scared I'll never meet.

I wish I could see you again now
just for an afternoon.
Early August is always magic for me
'cause remember how we sat inside Starbucks by the window
talked about Cinderella
and people-watched on August 5th?
And then almost exactly three years later, on August 3rd, I met him
and I want to tell you all about it
all the good and bad things that happened
because I can laugh about it all now.
I can laugh about anything now.
One of these days I promise I'll take you out for drinks.

I miss the feeling of a Cambodian spring day 
stretching out
in front of me.
I like the feeling of my fingertips
peeling a tangerine
as all my plans may come to fruition
and juice drips down my chin
onto the pages of a dream journal.