Voicemail Poems

The pink skies and dry air The blue tongues and dark secrets soften like chalk pastels on our fingerprints Remember picking up pinecones discovering the city by bike surprised by anything we could dig and bury Nine p.m. is fading The steepest sand hill is still sinking and your hair isn’t short anymore My teeth are straight and my tires are flat and your dog has been dead for years So we move on thinking we’re clever swimming against the tide toward our new fears We drive down one-ways in opposite directions remembering our swingset when country Taylor Swift plays We used to want each other’s happy stories the way adults like sob stories to donate to and feel better about themselves We used to hold up the moon with our feet, peace signs high popcorn stuck in our gums Photographs veiled with dust at the back of our drawers I’m beginning to sleep before midnight with the playroom black The door closed The dolls lay close but not touching --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PAT