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Blink

maybe everyone who has ever been important to me
runs on the same thread
so while I no longer see you
I only saw you for five minutes across the street
our eyes met
you handed me a cup of coffee
I kissed your forehead
felt your knees behind my knees, our hands brushing together on a walk
maybe you’ve died
maybe I grew you
stroke your hair, read to you
maybe we shared only a singular conversation
talk every night
have sat in the same seat at a restaurant, an hour and a half apart from one another
drank from the same glass
shed our hair into the same furniture, the same shower drain
lived together for six years
I washed your dishes, folded your shirts, scrubbed your toilet
read your poetry
we went to prom, you took my virginity in a blue sedan
left when I was an infant
grounded me to my bedroom in the winters
keep my baby teeth in a box on your dresser, a lock of hair in an envelope
washed my dishes, folded my clothes, scrubbed my toilet
seen my blood
dressed me
undressed me
touched my body, held my face, kissed me in the dark
in a park, in front of a tree, on someone’s lawn
in a different city, a hotel room, a birthday party, on the stairs of a friend’s house
we fought, or we’ve never fought
you’ve seen me cry, slam doors, return keys
said I was crazy, said you loved that I was crazy
saw me at my best, wild and sure
my worst, writing my own epitaph
or now
quiet
hidden
unsure
desperate
chastened to honesty

the threads, brightly colored reds and purples
electric blues gold pink yellow
b l a c k
weave between my fingers
fold into one another
I press them into my thigh until they leave white marks
string them between my teeth
in my bedroom, spread them out atop my sheets

maybe they are all one I foolishly cut into pieces
thinking I am seperate from them
Posted 01/11/11
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