Tell me something,
anything,
so that I can see your world
through a clearer lens.
List off your favorites, sure,
but also tell me how the sand feels
between your toes
and how your body dances with waves
long after you are dry.
Tell me how you hate airports
because they mean goodbye,
and that you have never forgotten
the smell of your grandmother's house,
like pancakes and lilacs and jewelry polish.
Tell me something,
anything.
Tell me how you call the dj 22 times
to win Spice Girl tickets-
and how that still isn't
the most embarrassing thing you have done.
Tell me how your father never hugged you,
but that your mother held you too tightly.
Tell me of the nights you spent on the roof,
wishing for someone else's life.
Tell me something,
Darling.
Don't for a moment consider your minutiae
anything less than extraordinary.
Tell me.