Don’t let go

  I can’t grip the tape like you,

  grind the wheels or turn the tail.

  You defy gravity like Ollies

  while I cling to your hand,

  afraid to pop the board skyward

  like an acorn climbing back into the trees.

  But I fear nothing, like skydiving instructors

  making a living off falling, if you hold my hands

  like the railing off a grand staircase,

  ushering me to the ball.

  A series of moments are all I take

  before I slowly peel my fingers from your arms,

  a baby bird dropping from the nest,

  the mother crossing her fingers

  as the child learns to fall,

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  learns to use her homegrown wings.

  It’s slow like breathing,

  but I rumble, skating along

  painted sidewalk lines like a train

  finding the comfort of rails.

  Grab a board and join me,

  hold my hand as we float across,

  hearts kickflipping like thirteen-year-old olympians.

  Uncharted

  Roll me the parallel plotter

  and draw an unwavering line

  from us to a point of departure

  winking on the horizon.

  Draw hundreds of lines,

  all intent on completing a dozen trips

  around the world like Phileas Verne.

  We’ll determine our bearing

  by the speed of our hearts.

  Pull me outside of myself,

  out of the ship, out of the sea,

  to the ancient tombs of books

  you thrive in like a raider,

  pillaging the best words and phrases

  and reworking them into something new.

  Put the pen in my hand

  and lead me into the deep waters,

  no longer uncharted.