The Butterfly Effect

working at the movie theatre in Bloomingfield, Indiana,

I hope the tattooed name on your wrist

does not become a stain on your skin.

and I hope you meant it when you said,

“I’m okay thanks for asking.”

Dear boy I gave a stuffed dragon,

one I spent hours in front of the claw machine for,

I hope in your room somewhere, he sits

surrounded by trinkets given to you with smiles,

and I hope someday you give it to someone who needs it.

Dear second grade teacher,

who gave scratch and sniff stickers,

I hope you finished your book,

and I hope i’ll stumble upon on your success

and find myself within the pages.

Dear man who almost drowned

two years ago at a beach I can’t remember,

I hope you forgive me for not going out into the waves to save you.

I promise I wanted to.

I hope you forgive me for saving myself.

Dear whoever is writing this story,

God or Fate, a frantic poet,

I hope intertwining me in their plotlines meant something

more than a line in late night scawls.

Sincerely,

a girl, hopeful of a butterfly,

to create ripples in universe

with delicate only wings.