![]() ![]() Sometimes when I think of you I wonder if it’s out of love or out of curiosity. But I wrote this to thank you, I wrote this to give you the explanation I know you’re looking for. There’s just some feelings that never go away. But it’s not in a romantic or sad way really. ![]() it’s a litany on how to get back up when you’re done. you have to tell yourself that story and write yourself the main character and dissolve all your towns and splinters and firehouses into something lovely and hold it up to the sun and say - this isn’t just an essay on falling down the hill. you have to, you know, be a person like a poem. if this is the poem i cannot help but make, then i am glad it is the poem about cradling life like a teacup. i have been telling myself the story of waking up for a long time. i find the notes i scrawled inside of the margins of my math textbooks. in the dusk, i almost crash the car thinking - what else is this poem about, but people who run into the burning? i find a book i wrote many years ago. there is nothing new under the sun, but we drive past a firehouse that has projected the word HOPE over their sigil. but you shift your weight while you are focused, and i am writing the poem about my childhood cat. there is nothing new under the sun, i am reminded. you know what this is a poem about, secretly. this is a poem about a playground, but it is not a poem about a playground. there are places i split my knee and there are places that splinters took me - i leaked into the wood, and the wood leaked into me. i am writing the poem about the playground that was condemned twenty years ago that every year gets un-condemned because we are so fond of it that we’d rather break our necks than let them change it. i am reading an article by richard hugo and he is telling me i never escape the town i grew up in. i am glad it is about the braid in your hair and about the way that sun comes through your kitchen window. but if this is the poem where i am writing about the same thing i always write, i am glad it is also about you. that poets could spend their whole lives just finding different arrangements to write the same poem. ![]()
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