I'Ve Turned Around. Poem by Kim Dang

I've turned around and I've lost it.
As if you've turned around and all
I can catch a glimpse of are the last strands of
your auburn hair.

In my peripheral vision we're forming mud cakes
from yesterday's downpour.
Laughing uncontrollably with crooked teeth. And
how incapable everything was. You remember.
Our treaties would seal over tootsie pops. Tears,
they healed all wounds, because we haven't grasp the value of time,
just yet.

And suddenly my clothes they stain red under
there.
Exactly like the hue of my lips,
covered up with lip stick.
Rubbed off by boys, by bathroom colored napkins.
Rubbed on because of my secrets.

I've turned around and I was lagged on purpose, perchance to miss it.
Praying not to be confronted by it.
Or by you. Especially not by you.

And what's gone are our honesties, the moment we
mutually agreed on the lost innocence. The protocols,
you expect me to believe they're self explanatory.
But I was pushed without permission to look back.
I caught a glimpse of you but I know nothing now.
All I know are my secrets.

I've turned around and
the door gap closed its crevices, cowered inward.
I've turned around and
you've already had your clothing on, getting ready to leave.
I've turned around and
already my bonsai tree is the color of cooked barley.