strange, the number of girls’ houses
that i slept in, memorized.
that still pop up in my dreams as part of
malls or mansions or schools, somehow,
in the way that dreams make things
strange, how you lose people somewhere along
the way, how they lose you, too.
i don’t call, i don’t call.
you wouldn’t pick up.
but i still remember the porcelain cows on
your kitchen counter, the way your
room looked like with the shades down.
the way you laughed at me when i was
being undeniably stupid. the way your mother
told me to stop playing your piano.
somehow i don’t remember what i did
the last time i was there.
somehow i don’t remember your middle name,
somehow i can still hear your laugh,
if i’m trying to make up a voice in my
head, if i’m trying to think of something
new it comes up with the old,
ha ha ha, your twitch at the corners
of your mouth, your ugly giggle.
delighted. in my head, you’re delighted.
somehow i let you be. somehow
it doesn’t hurt, somehow
it’s just a faint thing at the ends
of the break of dusk and i say,
i say i say i say i miss you,
my friend, my long-gone swing-set partner.