I fell in love with a rainbow-haired girl.
With skin as pale as the moon and a laugh that makes me feel like
I’ve just opened a new bag of toys or my favorite candy.
I felt bit by bit, as one usually does.
First it was her name, it sounded like an island bound boat.
The kind of name assigned to designer hand bags
and sweet girls from Minnesota.
Then it was the way she held her blue plastic glass in the galley —
as if she were sipping some carefully brewed potion.
And then I saw her face hot and red with tears.
Her voice squeaked and struggled to get the words of
that sadness out and I hugged her
like my favorite green teddy bear with the torn ear.
She likes strange things: plaid ninjas, potatoes
and anything that shines or sparkles.
She doesn’t get along with onions.
We speak to each other in glances or inappropriate eyebrow raises
and sometimes with unguarded words.
But it’s her laugh that always gets me.
Like all things beautiful, she is flawed.
She makes mistakes and bad decisions.
She too will disappoint me in some small way or another.
I love her just the same.
She is my friend, my rainbow-haired love.
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