Walls Don't Talk (But We Should)

I wrote this poem (and the previous poem, Silent Movies) last night as a matched set, right before going to sleep. This one happens to include a Prince reference at the beginning of the second stanza. I woke up this afternoon to the news that he passed away.

I'm not even going to try to express how I feel about that right now, and will rather hold back those purple tears for later in the week when I can put together something a little more polished. But it does remind me of how I had Michael Jackson's Heaven Can Wait stuck in my head for two weeks before his passing. Strange synchronicity.

I have more stories of that nature, several that were personal and not having to do with celebrities, and they would probably make for a very nice blog post, but for now I'll just go ahead and post last night's work. I hope you enjoy this one, and if you're mourning Prince as much as you should be tonight, I'm sending love and comfort to you.
 

Walls Don't Talk (But We Should)

Shimmers and sparkles
on handmade waves—
our own private aqua lake
with tiles that glimmer
in the glaring sun
and underwater walls
that don't talk
even if we're too young
to think the thoughts
and walk the walk.

Purple sky above crackling,
promising more than princely rain.
Storms rolled in—
we'd defy,
we'd swim.
Mermaids never go in.
We never, ever did.

Glowing ectoplasmic lights
cut through the water
and through the night.
Overhearing adult conversations
and knowing that we'd hopefully seen more
than even they would ever see—
that we were damaged
but ecstatically free
in a different way
than they could
ever be.

Emerald in that oceanic blue,
your abandoned opal misses you.
Let's talk amongst the tiles
and watch the stars cross the sky.
Let's let go and not ask why.