Cinnamon Girl

You liked the wind a bit
too much, perhaps.
Such cold detachment must have been
the closest you had ever come
to love.

I remember when you let your
wispy hair fall forward,
and opened your hand to let pockets of air
drift quickly between your fingers.
You said windy days made life worth living
as you pulled off your scarf to
use as a kite;
a banner of red against cold, gray sky,
sending cinnamon air
through the stars.

I just wanted to tell you, I kept
your scarf and
it still smells like detachment
and stale cinnamon.

I suppose you’re probably much
happier now;
drifting through the sky sounds nice.
resting on the stars must
make the earth feel so small, like the
wind between my fingers or
the red scarf I hold to the sky,
a banner along this
dirt-road runway,
as if cosmic winds could
pull you
back to me.