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November 8, 2015
I wonder if he thinks of me,
that man,
manning the counter of our not-local,
not-corporate bookstore
a year ago some yesterday.
I wonder if he recalls my gaze
in the breath of night,
the way strangers stroll through my mind
after the sun has been swallowed.
I wonder if he wonders
if I still gift flowers
to the solitary pages
of my timeless friends,
the same way I wonder
if the look that flicked across my face
when he found that floral bookmark tucked away
reminded him of a child
rediscovering a neglected hamster.
© Jordan K., Oxford, GA
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