I am trying to write a love letter to
the good memories,

the ones I have to beat the walls for,
Hiding in corners of my house for safekeeping

Under floorboards, buried in the yard.

Making maps in my mind of
the streets I used to
run through.

Maybe my brown skin makes me want
to ignore that this place could be
a little bit of home.

Even if I don’t feel so welcome,
it’s got so many of
my good memories
carved into the picnic tables,
into the bark of old splintered trees.

The branches and limbs all
broken from climbing,
falling,
building tree houses and
popping fireworks.

The limbs of old oaks
burned down
because two
cousins wanted to see who
had the best aim.

Flinging black cats and bottle rockets
into knotholes
into that chorus of
"oh *****"
I’ve bellowed from gut to throat,
that sing out from a past
of bad decisions that
make for great stories.

That make for scenes
out of movies I’ve never
seen, from
films that would never do
my eyes justice.

Every stupid acid trip
that left us
under a cloudy sky
with a knock
echoing out from just below
Heaven.

Every fist fight,
every single **** or
cigarette burn or
broken heart
that hit me.

I want to write
a love letter
for every different
song that played
every single time

We jumped the car
over the hill,
that hill where the
road lines the cemetery
and we rolled the windows down.

A different classic rock song
every time we
jumped,
waiting at the stop sign
for the
perfect moment to
Floor it.

Tombstones bouncing
guitar riffs into the
old summer moon.

A love letter to
every car I crashed,
every friend I lost,
and every time I thought
I might die.

I’m trying to write that letter,
I just need to forget
a few things first.