Popcorn

They don't think I notice

They don't think I notice how stingy we're becoming:

They don't think I notice the reluctance to use the propane heat.

They don't think I notice how cold it is when I crawl out of bed every morning.

I want to know how it feels to lie in your bed and stare at the ceiling.

I want to know how your sweatshirt would fit over my shoulders.

I want to be a melody stuck in your head.

When we drove through my hometown for the first time, I asked her, "What do you see?"

And she stared at the setting Ohio sun, at the too cold outside with not enough snow, at the streets I called home.