M. Hank

When you are old and too tired to sleep,

Steeping like your lemon tea

In ancient memories and dreams,

I wonder if you’ll think of me.

When your forehead’s deeply lined

With remnants of the tears you cried

yesterday 
to you i was nine years old 
with a black hurley hat 
that never left my head 
the hat that you would take 
and try to hold it far above 
my reach knowing i could never get it 

where do ripples come from

i wonder

these little 

escalating things 

perhaps they come from

the speed boat 

a few paces out 

sharp short

and jagged 

or maybe 

I have been told

To put curl cream in my hair

Upside down, eyes 

Straining against the ceiling light,

Curls straining toward the tile floor,

Bunching.

I will smell

We 

     Contain multitudes,

     Infinite differences

     And variations; it is