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I wistfully this morn from my silken bed of sand I scrubbed my troubles with saltwater — Rinsed remembrance from my hands I went and gave myself to the waves not of my DNA And the honu sang me farewell as they carried me away The voyage was everlasting My heart turned with every mile As teardrops crowned my countenance — I'd wished to linger one more while When finally I was delivered to a land I once held dear, An 'iwa bird descended and tucked a nanu behind my ear The westerlies intercepted me Just as the full moon rose; The rest of the journey ran away and took with it my woes Tenderly, the weeping willows Now brush my hair and teeth, And frame for me the starlight Whose golden smile I'm beneath
The dead apple tree has a large branch I use to jump over the school wall. I have to hold up my too-big pants up while I run from all the old ladies chasing me with their cowlicked hair and wood yardsticks. They couldn’t catch me even if I walked to the tree and it’s ridiculous that they still try. The only reason I ever come and stay all the way until first recess is because of the apples they give us. Of course, it’s expected that we actually stay the whole day. But how can anyone expect me to carry out an entire six-hour sentence every single day when I can be doing better things with my life?
"Deja vu" may not technically be the right phrase, but I'm not sure what the proper word is to describe walking into the dining room and being hit with the forgotten scent of pine and gluten-free cookies. "Nostalgia" isn't the right word, either – that would imply fondness for the memory. I could say it made me feel like a kid again, but that's the cliche people use to say they feel free or giddy. I just feel out-of-place. Like a kid who’s suddenly been stretched into adult proportions and has no idea what the expectations are anymore.
Dear Mama: My life outside our seven thousand islands: