i am to trying to remember you
and how you looked before you were gold like your wedding ring
and i am trying to remember or trying to forget
how you looked at me and how it burnt like the iron at dress rehearsals
i am an amnesiac home from war you are a sailor lost at sea
and i am trying to remember your skin when you smiled
but i am trying to remember you
at seventeen – at fifteen – at nineteen –
your fingers on your father’s gun your hand over my wrist
and you, smiling at me as you stick needles in your skin
to blossom flowers of night ink and charcoal
but that never really happened either and I go to the beginning –
so i am trying to remember you
on your father’s couch at the altar
raising hands in supplication, in protection, in fear
or you at the desk next to me tracing circles in rotting wood
and talking about god but you lost his number
but it’s all static anyways, like you’ve turned up the radio to drown me out
and i’m seeing blind in the light like the sun burnt out from the inside
and i don’t remember why i wanted to remember you at all.
By Olivia Lewis