Writing

Funny, the stupid things I remember.

I never remember the important stuff,

Like addresses or birthdays

Or parties or hangouts

Or last names.

But I remember my second grade teacher's dogs were Rachel and Quimby

birdsong woke us at five a.m., the washed-out dawn

altogether too bright. wake-up bugle wasn't til eight, time spent

rolling over and over listening to the screen doors slam.

You hold me again. In your arms. The rain is pouring even harder now, coming down like warm, wet paint splattering our arms and faces until we're drenched in it.

it rained the night of our arrival -

big, whooshing gasps of whitewashed rain & thunder that

shook heavy against the darkening skies. dinner went long.

we only sang louder, deafening echoes beneath the storm as

I love you.

I know that’s just me

And you

And there are hundreds

Of millions

Of haters

Of hated.

But I love you.

But you’re my best friend.

I love you for phone calls

the air tastes like honey and promise 

sticky with the scent of blooming jasmine 

and freshly cut grass that crunches beneath bare feet 

the sky drips blue 

stretching wider every afternoon