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❝ minute hand ❞
1.
fireflies were the magic we used
to keep the night to ourselves
small and powerful
2.
in my favorite movie you said
this, forever - hands grasping
stronger hands - this
3.
the attic meant secrets
the basement meant trouble
4.
he made me human because i cried
though he gave me fair warning
not to
5.
our snow palace didn't melt until April
which was when we left -
two with wings, two on wheels
6.
"that was the last time
i let myself
do anything for you"
7.
the fireflies became egrets and
you didn't mind as much as i did
8.
bottlecap boy, boy with the chipped tooth
boy standing on the cinema seat screaming happiness;
that was you, though you wouldn't
recognize it anymore
9.
went to town if you could call it that
but i forgot to hold your hand and
got lost in a sea of strangers who
seemed to have borrowed my face
10.
then was the year of water guns and spring fling
us dancing like toy monkeys on Christmas
(the ones sent back for doing the wrong things)
11.
your house had mangroves
sea forests where we argued over
who would be king
12.
some things couldn't possibly change
13.
some things didn't want to
14.
under the table made a poor hiding place
but i remember you there anyway, shaking
and splintering into smaller yous
15.
tried to write letters from other people
to myself, anything to put the voices
somewhere i could mortalize them
16.
not children but still small, still here
still true that
i'd know you in any light
and
you'd know me in any dark
17.
sent my love with bandages since
safety missed you terribly and
insisted on waiting for you
the reliable end of a too long day
18.
once built a house to the best of my ability;
used popsicle sticks, glow-in-the-dark stars, and
a few hours daring to be proud
19.
i was not quite tall enough for the ride
20.
last time i saw you
you were happier
and older
21.
it was the second one that sent me running
22.
lost a lot of money and none of it was mine
they said everyone hits the tipping point differently
i just wanted them to tell me how to be the same
23.
some envies never left me:
stephanie's hair, shambray's roses, sarah's strong left kick,
you dripping rain with me in the back of the room
24.
yes, i learned
how hard easy inevitable it was
being jealous of yourself
25.
"don't look back," everyone said this
no one actually managed it but, anyway,
i preferred the person more likely to lend me binoculars
he who'd let me see for free what others paid so much for
26.
(we could still be something)
27.
i found your letter
yellowed, smelling like old books
smelling like Clematis at dusk;
wrote you back too
well, started
28.
as always i was hoping i wasn't too late
though i knew it'd been years in the making:
this tradition that i always am
29.
someday i will ask if you remember me and your answer
will be to show me how the car failed
to kill you - proof of how bad we are at getting
what we want
30.
dreamt another "i", train rattling on stilts
thought this one would look good with friends
woke up to disabuse the notion then
planted over it
31.
that garden was a fantasy before i knew what fantasy was
so it was just real
32.
i don't regret the difference
33.
the treehouse with the rope ladder and the broken window
remember? dad built it overlooking dark pines, adjacent to the sweat-house
it always smelled like someone who'd been hurt
34.
once from the backseat we watched the moon swallow the sky
witnessed how it followed us like a dog, enormous and loyal
"Sky Puppy," you said, and still do
35.
nights i bleed bruises are nights i feel most like myself
you taught me not to fear the dark but now i'm afraid
with all the lights on, radiator hissing in your sibilance
36.
we were not very big and our hearts were smaller
i thought this and i think this and i never understand
maybe we weren't built for it
37.
the treehouse wasn't
38.
white envelope but not plain since no envelope sent is actually
plain is it? unearthed it jammed between books CDs shadows dust-
jackets big enough to grow into; your will, you said meaning "mine"
meaning, "hold onto this for me", meaning, "you can keep it
but nothing else"
39.
spoiled by Trinidad, deluded by Ireland, deported by Korea
inherited by Greece, embraced by wood stoves and stories
we drew ourselves into, small handed
your heart
steeped for years in different looking skies
40.
the hospital still scares me today, tonight, tomorrow
with its bright whites that make me forget people get better;
coats there counsel faith but i don't believe in anything so clean
41.
dark suddenly, but this really happened, i think: the big dipper watched the little dipper
all those wires stringing her stars together, singing her to sleep,
trying to understand
42.
i grew up listening to owls and heart monitors
43.
the sea glass collection was our largest
followed by stone hearts and drift wood birds fashioned out of salt water,
they made you first beautiful, then bitter
44.
decembered my way into the summer
you know i hate my birthday
45.
my favorite writing happened in letters
in love stories that were war stories
that weren't worth their weight in life
46.
my favorite place hid along the coast
of your collarbone
where fingertips played as if pressed
to the most fragile piano
47.
my favorite you
followed me into exile
even though i deserved it
48.
there were no forests here, so i missed them
there was no you here, so i missed you
the difference: i wondered if you ever returned the favor
but the trees struck their peace a long time ago
49.
yesterday the wind nudged more than pushed my contents
as i edged along cracked cement wondering
why even cowardice is so difficult
50.
promised you tomorrow i wouldn't go, i know i
broke my promise, then
apologized and did it again
51.
there was summer: our jump with all our clothes on
all our laugh lines intact, acting as an open palm between my shoulders
we'd never have it again but the sun that day was indelible
even the water was sweet
52.
the best voices never belonged to me, have now moved far away but
sometimes i imagine the conversations we would have
53.
i bought a hundred postcards trying to reach them
54.
the idea was to tell the truth but i blew
most of my time remembering how
55.
last May i stole to the beach, still repellant as ever but
was worth it
on the offchance you'd be there: up to your knees in moonlight
56.
my love didn't know how to separate, threw itself
into oncoming storms, and
survived
57.
once spent three hours searching
for a familiar name in an alphabet of strangers
who couldn't be less interested if they tried
58.
the truth now: sleep
revealed its teeth a year ago
give or take
59.
wanted to tell you all about it
how the car missed your life
by hairline fractures like it knew
what it was doing all along
60.
i was never so lucky
fireflies were the magic we used
to keep the night to ourselves
small and powerful
2.
in my favorite movie you said
this, forever - hands grasping
stronger hands - this
3.
the attic meant secrets
the basement meant trouble
4.
he made me human because i cried
though he gave me fair warning
not to
5.
our snow palace didn't melt until April
which was when we left -
two with wings, two on wheels
6.
"that was the last time
i let myself
do anything for you"
7.
the fireflies became egrets and
you didn't mind as much as i did
8.
bottlecap boy, boy with the chipped tooth
boy standing on the cinema seat screaming happiness;
that was you, though you wouldn't
recognize it anymore
9.
went to town if you could call it that
but i forgot to hold your hand and
got lost in a sea of strangers who
seemed to have borrowed my face
10.
then was the year of water guns and spring fling
us dancing like toy monkeys on Christmas
(the ones sent back for doing the wrong things)
11.
your house had mangroves
sea forests where we argued over
who would be king
12.
some things couldn't possibly change
13.
some things didn't want to
14.
under the table made a poor hiding place
but i remember you there anyway, shaking
and splintering into smaller yous
15.
tried to write letters from other people
to myself, anything to put the voices
somewhere i could mortalize them
16.
not children but still small, still here
still true that
i'd know you in any light
and
you'd know me in any dark
17.
sent my love with bandages since
safety missed you terribly and
insisted on waiting for you
the reliable end of a too long day
18.
once built a house to the best of my ability;
used popsicle sticks, glow-in-the-dark stars, and
a few hours daring to be proud
19.
i was not quite tall enough for the ride
20.
last time i saw you
you were happier
and older
21.
it was the second one that sent me running
22.
lost a lot of money and none of it was mine
they said everyone hits the tipping point differently
i just wanted them to tell me how to be the same
23.
some envies never left me:
stephanie's hair, shambray's roses, sarah's strong left kick,
you dripping rain with me in the back of the room
24.
yes, i learned
how hard easy inevitable it was
being jealous of yourself
25.
"don't look back," everyone said this
no one actually managed it but, anyway,
i preferred the person more likely to lend me binoculars
he who'd let me see for free what others paid so much for
26.
(we could still be something)
27.
i found your letter
yellowed, smelling like old books
smelling like Clematis at dusk;
wrote you back too
well, started
28.
as always i was hoping i wasn't too late
though i knew it'd been years in the making:
this tradition that i always am
29.
someday i will ask if you remember me and your answer
will be to show me how the car failed
to kill you - proof of how bad we are at getting
what we want
30.
dreamt another "i", train rattling on stilts
thought this one would look good with friends
woke up to disabuse the notion then
planted over it
31.
that garden was a fantasy before i knew what fantasy was
so it was just real
32.
i don't regret the difference
33.
the treehouse with the rope ladder and the broken window
remember? dad built it overlooking dark pines, adjacent to the sweat-house
it always smelled like someone who'd been hurt
34.
once from the backseat we watched the moon swallow the sky
witnessed how it followed us like a dog, enormous and loyal
"Sky Puppy," you said, and still do
35.
nights i bleed bruises are nights i feel most like myself
you taught me not to fear the dark but now i'm afraid
with all the lights on, radiator hissing in your sibilance
36.
we were not very big and our hearts were smaller
i thought this and i think this and i never understand
maybe we weren't built for it
37.
the treehouse wasn't
38.
white envelope but not plain since no envelope sent is actually
plain is it? unearthed it jammed between books CDs shadows dust-
jackets big enough to grow into; your will, you said meaning "mine"
meaning, "hold onto this for me", meaning, "you can keep it
but nothing else"
39.
spoiled by Trinidad, deluded by Ireland, deported by Korea
inherited by Greece, embraced by wood stoves and stories
we drew ourselves into, small handed
your heart
steeped for years in different looking skies
40.
the hospital still scares me today, tonight, tomorrow
with its bright whites that make me forget people get better;
coats there counsel faith but i don't believe in anything so clean
41.
dark suddenly, but this really happened, i think: the big dipper watched the little dipper
all those wires stringing her stars together, singing her to sleep,
trying to understand
42.
i grew up listening to owls and heart monitors
43.
the sea glass collection was our largest
followed by stone hearts and drift wood birds fashioned out of salt water,
they made you first beautiful, then bitter
44.
decembered my way into the summer
you know i hate my birthday
45.
my favorite writing happened in letters
in love stories that were war stories
that weren't worth their weight in life
46.
my favorite place hid along the coast
of your collarbone
where fingertips played as if pressed
to the most fragile piano
47.
my favorite you
followed me into exile
even though i deserved it
48.
there were no forests here, so i missed them
there was no you here, so i missed you
the difference: i wondered if you ever returned the favor
but the trees struck their peace a long time ago
49.
yesterday the wind nudged more than pushed my contents
as i edged along cracked cement wondering
why even cowardice is so difficult
50.
promised you tomorrow i wouldn't go, i know i
broke my promise, then
apologized and did it again
51.
there was summer: our jump with all our clothes on
all our laugh lines intact, acting as an open palm between my shoulders
we'd never have it again but the sun that day was indelible
even the water was sweet
52.
the best voices never belonged to me, have now moved far away but
sometimes i imagine the conversations we would have
53.
i bought a hundred postcards trying to reach them
54.
the idea was to tell the truth but i blew
most of my time remembering how
55.
last May i stole to the beach, still repellant as ever but
was worth it
on the offchance you'd be there: up to your knees in moonlight
56.
my love didn't know how to separate, threw itself
into oncoming storms, and
survived
57.
once spent three hours searching
for a familiar name in an alphabet of strangers
who couldn't be less interested if they tried
58.
the truth now: sleep
revealed its teeth a year ago
give or take
59.
wanted to tell you all about it
how the car missed your life
by hairline fractures like it knew
what it was doing all along
60.
i was never so lucky