parallel

when i was nine years old

my fourth grade teacher told me the definition

of the word “parallel”

he said, “two lines, constantly mirroring each other. never meeting, never crossing.”

now of course he meant this in the most mathematical sense of the phrase,

but i didn’t understand any sense of the phrase until i met you

until i felt the atlantic ocean separating our fingertips

until it stretched us on

opposite sides of the earth

with opposite, teasing sunsets

i didn’t understand that i could be

graphed on paper made out of stardust

and written with a pen

full of the movement of our planet’s plates

but i was, and i understand now with

every yellowed map i see

every missing puzzle piece

every sea there is to sail

and every math test i’ve ever failed

that the only real parallels

are you and me