​“Andrew?” I ask, remembering the name I read next to mine on the schedule.

He turns around, his mouth open like he was too lazy to shut it.

“Yeah,” he says, unamused, looking me up and down. I don’t look my best. I hadn’t shaved my legs in a couple days, my cheeks were breaking out, and I was wearing my shit-green Grand Canyon t-shirt with the itchy collar. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone anyway. But still, I pull my wrinkled baseball hat further down, avoiding his stare by scanning the room.

It’s dim, the midday sun glaring straight down, barely reaching the middle of the room we stand in. Staring.

Andrew goes back to popping small tablets into the water samples he took from the pool while I was busy walking to work. The roads were closed, and my dad couldn’t find a detour which forced me to walk a mile to get here. I spent half of that mile going in the wrong direction. Late, on my first day of work.

I decide it’s my turn to look him up and down. He’s wearing a loose tank top that reads “LBI” in faded blue ink. As he leans forward over the table to reach the notebook he was recording pool data in, I can see his chest. He’s tan, probably from laying in the sun all summer.

He places a notebook in front of him and looks at me, breaking the silence with his stare alone.

“Do you wanna empty out the skimmer baskets?” He drops his chin and raises his eyebrows, looking at me like a librarian does when they peek over their little reading glasses. I sense annoyance. He knows I was looking. Staring.

Without saying anything, I turn around to do my job before he could see my blushing cheeks. I was embarrassed.

I get outside and flip the caps off of the basket drains. I try not to gag while I empty out leaves, various insects, and a dead frog into the well maintained grass outlining the pool deck. I do the same to the other baskets and start skimming the pool with the net.

As I work, I hear the door of the clubhouse swing open. I know it’s him, and I don’t turn around. I try to look busy.

He’s definitely in his twenties. I’m sure of it. In the corner of my eye, I can see his Ray Bans slip down his nose, and he goes to push them back up. I can feel his eyes on me.

“Where are you from?” he says with a little more personality.

“Madison.” I don’t return the question, trying to seem as careless and monotone as possible. He doesn’t acknowledge my answer, though I can feel the judgement. Just as I feel his stare. Up and down, up and down.

He slips the red lifeguarding tube over his wide shoulders and grasps it under his arms, pressing it into his body. Still looking. I start to question whether he actually is looking at me or if it’s my imagination. Desperate for attention. I scold myself.

I take my station by the gate and carefully wrap the elastic of my mask over my ears. Today I’m writing down the names and times in and out for the pool visitors. For six hours. From where I am, I can see the back of his head and the blue of his Yale University cap that he wears backwards.

A couple hours in, he gets up. I jerk around in my chair, opening my book. Perfume by Patrick Suskind. I can hear his footsteps coming up behind me. I tense up, but don’t turn around. My fingers trace the brown, worn edges of the book as I wait for him to say my name.

“Anna” he calls casually. The view he has is the back of my neck. My stupid braid with a hello kitty hair tie at the end. I’m embarrassed, and I turn around.

“Yeah?” I’m ready to do what he says.

“Can you watch the pool for a sec? I gotta call my mom,” He gestures to the phone in his left hand. The screen lights up. I catch a glimpse of text messages, Snapchat notifications, and missed calls.

“Yeah, of course,” I get up and start walking toward the pool. He grabs my wrist. I look back, startled. He gives my arm a slight tug, directing me to stand by his side. I follow it.

“Do you see that lady?” He says, leaning in, his cheek almost touching mine. I smell vodka on his breath and look at him, at his tired eyes.

“Are you drunk?” He looks at me, at my lips, at the Grand Canyon logo on my shirt. He leans in, studying me. I let him.

Pulling back, finally, he answers. “No.” He lets go of my wrist. The moment is over. Why was I disappointed? “Just keep an eye on her. She’s not a strong swimmer.”

He walks through the rusted gate of the pool without a word. I can still feel his hand around my wrist, gripping it like a stairway railing. Like he needed it. I watch the back pocket on his bright red shorts, the top hatch of a flask peeking out the top as he turns the corner.
​

​I’ve loved you since the dawn of time,
lost in the space between.
Since the summertime,
the summertime of my sixteen.

And on the seaside of the vernacular,
I learnt the language of love-
and how particular,
that it was the language of you.

Yet, I still stay cautious.
Not knowing of the unbeknownst,
still rather dangerous, rather torturous;
​must I always remain your ghost?

Give me the silence of your lips,
In our very own oceanic abyss. 

Bazaar dreams hold me close,
as I reverie in the colours of
broken bangles and friendly foes.

“I’ll find love in the bazaar streets,”
I slowly whispered to my mother
as she tucked my sheets.

She laughed out loud, and quietly said,
“Sweet child of mine,
now that’s something I dread!”

Overwhelmed by emotion
and tortured by my devotion
to the bazaars of

wrinkled tea leaves and

patterned weaves

I relish in the symphonies of
broken hand held bells and
city dwells.

How wondrous it must be,
​To be beautiful, bountiful and free. 

​Blasphemy of emotions
A sudden realization
Innocent actions
Guileful thoughts
Waves of worry
Finite decisions
Tinted cheeks
Thin boundaries
Fading hope
Oblivious lies
Approaching darkness
Soft cries
Sneaky smiles
Salty tears
Breaking points
Joyous me
Broken you
Beautiful you
Scarred me
Alive
Dying
Us

I am made up of emotions
If you cut me,
Ink and tears will seep out
Slowly and then like huge gushes
Of waterfalls
A wildfire of passion
And a pit of frustration
Swirl at the bottom of my stomach
Butterflies and bees
Sip nectar from
The flowers that bloom
From the spaces between my rib cage
Soft and gentle spikes
Of love roll over my skin
Warm me, till my soul
The lulling hum of a song long forgotten
Plays at the back of my mind
Dreams play on loop
A never ending relay of thoughts
My eyes shimmer
At the prospect of sun-soaked letters
And emails that are drenched in love
There is an urge to learn
Within me
Anything, everything
And a sapling that resides on the left of chest
Unfurling roots and shoots
With me;
I am made up of
The serenity of reading under candle-light
The aesthetics of dressing up just because
The idea of falling in love
The wanderlust that crawls in at night
The thrill of grandeur
The nostalgia of something
I have never had
The want
The need
To know,
To learn,
To have,
These emotions
That make up me
These emotions
Are me
Emotions
I am made up of emotions
If you cut me,
Ink and tears will seep out
Slowly and then like huge gushes
Of waterfalls
A wildfire of passion
And a pit of frustration
Swirl at the bottom of my stomach
Butterflies and bees
Sip nectar from
The flowers that bloom
From the spaces between my rib cage
Soft and gentle spikes
Of love roll over my skin
Warm me, till my soul
The lulling hum of a song long forgotten
Plays at the back of my mind
Dreams play on loop
A never ending relay of thoughts
My eyes shimmer
At the prospect of sun-soaked letters
And emails that are drenched in love
There is an urge to learn
​Within me
Anything, everything
And a sapling that resides on the left of chest
Unfurling roots and shoots
With me;
 am made up of
The serenity of reading under candle-light
The aesthetics of dressing up just because
The idea of falling in love
The wanderlust that crawls in at night
The thrill of grandeur
The nostalgia of something
I have never had
The want
The need
To know,
To learn,
To have,
These emotions
That make up me
These emotions
Are me

I’m not happy with what’s going on,
If I had the power to change the world,
All these bad things would be gone.
 
But I don’t,
And you don’t.
So in the meantime all you and I can do,
Is hope the future is a little less blue.
 
If you’re hoping for 2021,
Then I’m sorry to the tell you this news,
December 31st and January 1st,
The difference between them is only a day
On January 1st 2021,
It’s not like all this will be gone away.
 
It’s not 2021 I’m hoping for,
It’s change.

Don’t grow out of your body
Don’t grow out of your mind
There's more to life
Than posing 
To be an age

You weren’t yet assigned

Don’t greet him with unlatched legs
Embrace life 

With an unlocked mind

There is more to life
Than posing 
To be an age

You weren’t yet assigned

Don’t fail to recall laughter
Don’t omit joy
All unembellished things we can perceive 
From more than just a boy

Adopt happiness
On you own terms
To pursue life’s passions
Hindrances and turns

Because there is more to life
There is so much
More
To life

Than posing to be an age
You weren't yet assigned

​Elderberry wine
Tints my lips
And a flush is already
Spreading across
My pale cheeks
I unclench my jaw
And words fall from them
And land over the countertop,
Glittering like gold and fresh coffee
Your eyes twinkle with mirth
I carry stars
Within my fists
That threaten to spill over
You smile
And I want to hand all of them to you
But I can’t so instead,
Poetry falls from my lips
They roll off my tongue
Like soft butter
Your smile grows wider
And it makes me want to
Bake amortentia pies
And caramelize my metaphors just so I want to
Dress you up
In gold metaphors
And paint you
With a glaze of soft comfort
I want to
Show off
The way the sunset
Paints you golden with brown honey butter
The way sugar coats everything you say
The way diamonds shimmer in your eyes
The way you make it
So effortless for me
To write poems
Cooking is a process
That requires attention and love and time
Writing is a process
That requires attention and love and time
And the soft sugary laugh of yours
Makes me melt into a poet
A fool in love
​And a chef
​

​Stepping into a bland horizon
As the world passes through my window
Maybe I'm in the lounge of life
Where comfort is all around us
Yet things will never be the same
Do they even remember my name

There are minds in a cloud of wires
I feel the emotions every day
In the queue waiting their turn
And I'm looking down
Because there's nothing good on
Today sounds like the same old song

All the blinds are shut
And the lounge is in darkness
My breathing has become steady
I bring life to a screen
Which makes everything seem real again
A woman cries to me, "When oh when?"

Trapped in the lounge of life
Like living on a desert island
Palm trees beaming on me
Foraging the web for delivery
Emails washing up on the sea
As I recline in this seat

Your heart 
Centering your chest
Could center more


The window to your soul
The words that you let go


Perhaps the way you view the world
Could all be the reflection
Of the heart
Ever so raw
And without  
Your mind’s protection


You could go far
You could love more
Filling yourself with it
The energy you let go


It flows 
It travels
From one soul 
To the other


As you let go the reasons to hate
And open the doors
To more


You will be freeing yourself
From this negativity
That stunts your growth


Branching out 
And moving forward


As you connect yourself
To one another