There were thorns involved
and so with careful fingers 
the firm, deep purple berries
were pulled off stalks,
held in palms,
and eaten.

It reminded her of birds 
when they delicately land
on thorn bushes.
Tiny toes splayed,
balancing the sharp mountains
in between skin.

Blackberry picking was a slow, methodical process, one that could last hours
if let alone.  

And she was alone;
reaching with night-stained fingers, 
for another jewel 
draping towards the ground,
adding it to the collection of savored
things from summer afternoons.

Cool ponds,
tiny caterpillars,
dirty calloused feet. 

They were simple and achievable 
and are the things she remembers 
20 years from now. 

Blackberry picking 
in early August. 



 

 I had a necklace once,
a key that never opened anything.
 
A soft white heart string
tied around my neck.  
 
Then there was the ocean
and the sudden idea that keys belonged
more to it than to me.
 
The waves were waiting.
 
Stomach pressed to splintering boards
reaching for the small string on my neck,
twisting over damp hair,
slipping through silent fingers.
 
Now, even if there was a door to a long lost room
or a chest full of somebody else’s dreams
I will never open it.
 
And there is a piece of me sinking
to the bottom of that ocean,
a slice of my existence,
a reminder that somewhere out there,
I’m still waiting for a chance to float.
 

 

Every time I sit down to write
I remember 
your smile. 

The dark.

The light in the corner.

1. You have entranced me,
consumed me.
The only thing I know how to do anymore
is remember. 

2. I'll see you again 
and it scares me to think I could've changed
in your eyes.

3. I have fallen in love with the way you remember me. 

4. I'm not sure when we became beautiful.

Were we born that way?
Beautiful before creation? 

Beautiful the second we met?

5. I'm not sure it works that way
but I kinda wish it did. 

6. I want so badly
to be a part of the world
that falls from the sky. 

7. Every time I sit down to write
I remember your smile.

The way we fell together.

The way we learned to fly. 

It was sunny the morning everything left. 
The birds in the trees,
ripples on the water,
and you in your shaft of light,
eyes closed,
dust in your short, dark hair. 

We were happy,
I would have it forever. 

And then, you left. 
Quiet steps down the walk 
and a train ticket in a worn-out
overall pocket. 

And you wrote me 
but me but I never did the same.

Because who leaves without saying goodbye
(except the sun, maybe)?
And who forgets to close the door
on the way out
(except when you’re in such a big hurry

you forget who you’re leaving)? 

Don't you remember who
we were together? 
 

I met you last week. 

We were quiet
and lonely
and only had the courage to smile. 

Skipping rocks
and occasionally wading into the ocean.

I want to remember it forever.
The way

I met you,
the way you had looked at me,
the way the ocean curved
into the horizon
and disappeared.

I want to remember forever how I met you
and when I first saw you smile
and how you sang.

I want to remember not knowing you 
and then suddenly
changing. 
 

He looked at you
with those eyes again.

The ones that beg you to hold him.

And you would
if you weren't afraid of his lightning. 

He reminds you of the jellyfish
you found last summer. 

It was small 
and beautiful 
and was everything 
that a lonely ocean girl longs for. 

You love him. 
You did when you met him, when he smiled at you. 

I watch birds 
with slow feet 
and open books.


 

Today, on your yellow bike, 
(the one that refuses to turn exactly left) 
you passed the ocean.

It was light blue
and foaming at the edges 
and reminded you of the days
on the ocean with the summer friend
you had made when
you were younger.

He was quiet and smiled a lot.

You pulled over and examined the waves
cresting
and remembered how he
had cried
when you left.

You remembered how many stories
he held inside of him.

Those stories were more of him
than you ever had before.

You remembered the day in the rowboat
with soggy sandwiches and rain. 

And all that lost laughter.

It made you smile again. 

Where was he now?
Did he remember you?
Did you even remember him?