star

Good morning, sunlight like syrup

Touching every dew-streaked blade

Of grass and puddle of drying mud.

Good morning, air that smells of spring,

Air that sounds

if feelings are fluid then so is

the way you run your hands through your hair halfway out of your braid

your breath against my neck since you don't want others to hear

It’s a ball of knotted string

Stuck under my ribcage.

Whenever I start to untangle it,

I break a sweat & forget

Why I even tried. 

Give the lights a sickly yellow glow

Let me reflect 

The scribbled-on stall doors and brightly-colored posters

Framing her face, to remind her 

I remember taking Polaroids with you

In the driveway of the house you’ve now sold

On a grey afternoon that looked like night

In the photos. We’d wait impatiently

you should be an image in stained-glass windows 

the same ones you trace with your eyes every sunday 

while hymns echo in your ears, words 

you've known so long you forget the meaning.