#stickynotes
*"I miss you so much."
"Run away with me."
"You're my girl 3/23/14."
"Ali was here."
"Big kiss!"*
Hidden notes.
The pleasure of finding new pieces of you.
Wanting, yet not wanting to search
Because meeting the last one
Seems like it might mean
There is nothing left to discover.
You are here but you are gone.
You were my safety, but now
You are my cell phone.
You are my computer.
You are a lived-in T and sweater
Which I suffocate myself with
In order to feign sleep without your touch.
You are a used facecloth
And an unwashed pillowcase.
You are the crumbs in my carpet.
You are the strands of hair that cling to my scarf and brush
That did not come from the scalp I wear.
You are the blooming lilies left behind.
You are a faint aroma in the air
And
You are the steady thump of a heartbeat against an ear
Deeply rooted in my memory.
All these I know.
But the one blue sticky note that still evades me…
It is mystery.
It is you, unlearned.
It is my motivation.
It is my vice.
It is the sweet symphony
That keeps me afloat in the dark water.
Ocean waves.
Blue squares.
Where?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Here I sit at a desk that was once my mother’s,
Now papered with little yellow sticky notes.
Perhaps at one time it was neat and tidy, the way my mother is,
But now it’s a constellation of my wandering thoughts,
And things I must remember to do.
Clinging on to each other with all their might,
Little golden papers inscribed with various shades of ink,
At any moment, one may fall to the ground, like an oak leaf in a September breeze,
Finally letting go of its branch and swimming to the ground with a sigh,
To be swept away and forgotten.
Perhaps that little paper held a word I liked,
Or some mundane task that now I’ll never remember to do,
Perhaps it was a lyric, a fragment of a song I heard and found memorable,
A perfect little collection of words strung together like lace,
Leaving an empty space in the yellow foliage.
Here I sit at a desk that was once my mother’s,
That is now papered with small yellow sticky notes,
Thinking that there’s beauty in the way things are, a sort of cadence to the rhythm of everything,
Searching for the meaning of life in a cluster of yellow sticky notes,
Included in a list of chores, or written between the words of a love song.
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 1:51 PM UTC