Slippery Fingers I keep letting go of things but you always find a way back, a dream finds its way to your landscape. You reside in November and December. Once I kissed you on New Year’s Day. There’s a song I wish I had never known. A place I hid from you that contains echoes of harsh words and retorts I never made but should have. Tears now are all meant for then. Meaningless. You had a stone, semi-precious, not beautiful, plain to keep you safe away from home. I had nothing but a bracelet that broke, falling off my arm among American forests. A sign. A sign of what? I thought I knew. I keep burning things you gave me—words too because that’s what I was told to do. Perhaps they’ll find their way to ash and earth and where deeper promises go. Do you find me in places you didn’t expect to leave me? A hair hidden under the bed, one moved once a year. A hair tie that slipped off my wrist. A memory of my voice within other English accents. A sign. A sign of what I still don’t know.
copyright A Head 2023. Photo by Marianna Smiley on Unsplash
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