I am a face hidden by a camera lens,
mismatched earrings and an empty locket.
I am a memory curator, boxes
of cards, ticket stubs, pressed flowers.
I am a back-of-the-hand to-do list
and a corduroy jacket.
You are a sunrise and a 12-mile run,
sweaty feet and 3-day stubble.
You are dry eyes, even at funerals,
and a soft spot for golden retrievers.
You are a rusty blue Chevy
that you’ll fix up one day.
We are hands lingering after saying Grace.
We are “I’ll get this, you get that,
and we’ll split them.”
We are Alanis Morissette in the rain,
and a view of the fading day
from the rail of Boylan Bridge.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
I am a face hidden by a camera lens,
mismatched earrings and an empty locket.
I am a memory curator, boxes
of cards, ticket stubs, pressed flowers.
I am a back-of-the-hand to-do list
and a corduroy jacket.
You are a sunrise and a 12-mile run,
sweaty feet and 3-day stubble.
You are dry eyes, even at funerals,
and a soft spot for golden retrievers.
You are a rusty blue Chevy
that you’ll fix up one day.
We are hands lingering after saying Grace.
We are “I’ll get this, you get that,
and we’ll split them.”
We are Alanis Morissette in the rain,
and a view of the fading day
from the rail of Boylan Bridge.
