don’t imagine me
walking into school on a cool
september’s morning ;
my cheeks rosy &
my coat burning burgundy like a warning sign
against the slushy gray of the world.
there would be scuffs
in the faux leather of my boots ,
ugly gray patches
peeking out
at the toes.
don’t recall
dropping your pencil under my chair
when i sat next to you in history
( it was your favorite , navy blue & mechanical )
& when you kneeled to snatch it up
off of the shiny, marled tile
i accidentally broke it into two, uneven pieces
with the wooden heels
of my ugly boots.
( later , you’d tell me that it was okay. )
( & that you liked my boots. )
don’t picture me
lounging in the passenger’s seat
of your old 1997 chevy
my fingers , gone pale ,
worrying at a hole in the seat
& my filthy canvas sneakers
poised on the dashboard
as i smiled & whispered sunny lies
to my mother ,
over the phone.
don’t get lost
in the dream of yourself
lying with me
between scratchy motel sheets
that felt like burlap
& i’d listen to your breath
& you’d listen to my pulse
& our skin would be so warm that we thought
we’d never feel cold again.
you’d take a lock of my hair in your fingers
& make a maypole ribbon out of it
weaving it around & around your hand
& swearing you could see every hue of autumn in it
when i insisted my hair was
just black.
if you asked how it got so soft ,
i’d say
’ coconut oil. ’
’ my grandma swears by it. ’
don’t let a flash
of that old , dusty rose
catch your eye
& think of the sweater that i nicked from my sister
that was that very color
& don’t puzzle over
what was going on in my mind
when you said that it looked better on me
( even with those bleach - stained dungarees )
& that i’d ought to keep it.
don’t catch yourself
seeing the white walls of an empty apartment
& envisioning our house once again ;
when we moved into a blank canvas
& decided to lift the oak bureau together
& i dropped it on your foot by accident
& then smiled in apology
( because i really did feel awful )
but you were too busy screaming in red pain
to appreciate it.
( it wasn’t my fault that you were so much taller than me. )
don’t get blinded by the sun’s laughing glare
& at once conceive
the sight of me draped over
a flimsy beach chair
on a rare , sunny day
as if i was a small goddess
whom nobody cared about
but had suddenly received
an offering
from desperate mortals.
i’d take sparing sips
from a frosty glass
& ice would sit at the bottom
like rocks in a stream.
don’t let some scent
creep into your mind , uninvited
& blink
& see me running across your eyelids
after our daughter
who had gold hair like yours
& when you asked what i was doing
i would say
’ i’m massaging coconut oil into her hair. ’
’ my grandma swore by it. ’
don’t picture me seeing her off
when she would be ready to leave us
alone together
once again
& how i wrapped your red sweatshirt
tighter around my shivering frame
as her car faded away
& how sad the trees must’ve looked
with that blue cast of the mountains
always drowning them.
don’t think about how
one day
you might sit across from me
in our dimly lit parlor
& wonder when my hair got so white
& look down at my bony hands ,
already gone cold & gray
minutes after the fireplace’s death
& muse about how you knew my veins by heart
& how you knew exactly where you could see the pulse
on my wrist.
don’t wonder if
one day you might enter a room full of skeletons ,
your black suit chilling you
& know which one was mine
from the curve of the yellowing bones
& the way my fingers
still reached
for
you.