A Gift to You

December 18, 2011
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If you asked me what I think of you,
I would show you this heavy little scrapbook of mine.
If you look on the first page, you can see
That little dent in my brow; yes, that’s what I first thought of you.
We were just children then, but flip a few pages forward, and you’ll see
That little glass dome we built ourselves. Some of my favorite memories
Came from that time when we sat across the table, talking about
Nothing yet understanding everything we needed to say,
Your hands brushing mine until they tingled
And memorized your touch.
Or this one, of us entwined, looking out the glass at the madly
Cackling starlings. I always hated raucous black birds –
They reminded me too much of crows –
But somehow I loved starlings. And you. And I never understood
Why you would fall for me, how we could have built
That glass dome together in a heartbeat. We are as different
As lion and starling, as disparate as earth and air.
But I waited for you, craving you and your laughter
As much as the air absorbs steam after a draining rainstorm; your presence
Saturated my senses, like how the rich heavy-lidded scent of your shampoo
Would permeate the walls of the room and return with a vengeance
To haunt me with the intoxicating smell of you long after you had left.
You laughed when people called you seductive, and I never
Told you but you seduced me the moment you smiled that crooked smile
Of yours and we became friends, only later I found that we were
So much more. And when that little glass dome of ours shattered
From the deliberate stones of others, the only thing I salvaged
From the shards of glass was this little book I clasped to my heart
And named Memories.
So if you asked me what I think of you,
I would give you this heavy little scrapbook of mine
Called Memories, and let it rest like a golden weight in your hands
Reminding you of what we had been, what we could have been,
What we still can become.

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