you cut your bangs and now you look just like my mom did when she was your age

and even glancing at you feels like leaping backward in time, like gaining

a year but losing space on the surface of my fingertips; blades of grass interwoven

through my hair as i sit up suddenly. you cut your bangs

and you look like my mom, which is ironic, and

there is no echo without a wall, so do i remember this moment?

the smoke alarm beeps occasionally because it’s running out of battery

but i don’t have a ladder to fix it, i don’t have a ladder

and the echo rings. impossible to describe the noise of

something i am still hearing.

functioning on no sleep, or lots of it, so are you; and your bangs

whisper to me about the caskets of golden days ringing false

and, oh god, you look like my mom.