Venus

I stared wild-eyed at a painting of the Birth of Venus
And remembered the first woman who told me
I looked just like it

I wonder how she’s living
I wonder if her ears are ringing as I write this

Yeah, I remember her
She was a free-spirited youth,
Passionate with an edge of crazy
In the body of a forty-six year old Spanish teacher

Her imaginary friend was named bird
And her eyes sparked with the same caged freedom he flew with

She was never very good at standing still
That’s why I took a picture of her
It was the only time she wasn’t weaving her way in and out of history

When sleep came for her,
She fought it
She fought everything

There was never an angel inside of her
She was always inventing her own rules

The only things she believed in were freedom and adrenaline
So she made sure they found her
On the edge of a cliff,
In the place between a plane and the sky,
In the motivated arms of a dangerous boy

I knew her for twenty minutes
During the third, fifth, and eighteenth she told me I looked like Venus
During the nineteenth she said goodbye
By the twentieth I knew I would miss her

She’s the woman who always leaves first