I’ll Show You
For 18 year-old me
By Ilisha Thiru Purcell
Horizons on your fingertips and a paint-palette sky
Days scrunched into the hours of late mornings
Music that makes your hair a halo of frizz
A coastline that ripples like your thighs under his open hand
it’s your body.
People who would give you their nerves and memories if they could
text your cousin
who would stay up to wire another’s heart in hope of fixing your own
A family, webbed like string-hoppers, tossed from heart to mouth
learn amma’s tongue.
Laughter that dissolves everything except the present moment
A love that warms cold fingers and speaks in every sense
say his name.
A future that looks nothing like your past
turn the page.