The Wall And The Arm
"Let's catch up,"
said the wall to the arm.
After all this time,
wow, you've grown.
There is so much more of you
that I could possibly love.
Our elbows will hold each other in the dark room
push against and sway
and I will avoid your eyes
when you sing the songs of yesteryears
those songs of our parents
the songs where "baby" and "lovin" are
so much deeper rooted into the movement.
Each song.
And your laugh is terrifying
because it sounds forced
and like you're trying to get me to laugh
or get my attention,
but after listening to your mother's laugh,
I know it's probably because I don't actually know you all that well.
But I remember you had this white car that I loved
and I moved awkwardly when we kissed by it in the parking lot,
but you still kissed me,
still.
And you would kiss me again.
And I have a boyfriend now,
but I let my farthest corner touch your elbow and—
Lovely and—
Quiet and—
Remember me and—
I am finally here again, and
with you of all places.
June 22, 2014. 1:07 am.
"Let's catch up,"
said the wall to the arm.
After all this time,
wow, you've grown.
There is so much more of you
that I could possibly love.
Our elbows will hold each other in the dark room
push against and sway
and I will avoid your eyes
when you sing the songs of yesteryears
those songs of our parents
the songs where "baby" and "lovin" are
so much deeper rooted into the movement.
Each song.
And your laugh is terrifying
because it sounds forced
and like you're trying to get me to laugh
or get my attention,
but after listening to your mother's laugh,
I know it's probably because I don't actually know you all that well.
But I remember you had this white car that I loved
and I moved awkwardly when we kissed by it in the parking lot,
but you still kissed me,
still.
And you would kiss me again.
And I have a boyfriend now,
but I let my farthest corner touch your elbow and—
Lovely and—
Quiet and—
Remember me and—
I am finally here again, and
with you of all places.
June 22, 2014. 1:07 am.
