Old Songs

Remind me. How it was.

With dirt creased into my hands

but the skin of my body

washed, scented of lilies,

you-

pressing my back to the wall,

forcefully, the music playing

in the background,

old songs coincidentally

telling us new things

about where we found

ourselves. Those days.

 

Looking for resolution

In cloud formations; testing

theories of living

with the arc of flight-

white butterflies on

orange and yellow nasturtiums:

you said we could see forever,

but only if 

the day were cloudy.

 

Your hands awakening me

from my trance

as effectively

as 7 regimens of drummers

and pipers marching down

the hallway to your future self.

And maybe you loved me

a little bit, and maybe

you also came to me

to remember or die a little bit,

too, in equal parts.

 

In the span of 3 stanzas,

Maybe I can also

make you unafraid again,

of your own destiny.

Maybe.

 

Remind me.

If we could set that timer back

to second and third chances,

we could plant a garden

with renewed precognition.

The clearest waters flow

from the hardest rocks; the way

you shared your toys

when you were 3 tells me

how you will attend a lover now

between the satin motivations

of your nights.

 

Remind me.

How to find you, how to

make you see me. Here.

Remind me why

I maybe stayed too long,

why my feet seem to know

1000 ways to walk in this world

but none of them yet

away from you.

 

Teach me

more about the traps

that Latin men set

for an unsuspecting

foreign woman.

Who thinks maybe you have

the most beautiful eyes

she has ever seen.

for N.S. 

 

Author's Note

Partially inspired by lyrics from the song "Trapeze Swinger" by Iron and Wine. The rest, as usual, by conversations and observations of life.

Picture is my own artwork, of a fall field near where I live.

Reviews

[Dionysian Gnostic]

I reread your poem whilst listening to the song "Trapeze Swinger" by Iron and Wine. I wanted to create the proper atmosphere. I like the way it made me feel; a bit sad because it bought back some memories of my own past feelings and yet a little relieved in the recognition that it's fairly common and there's no shame in lingering on them. I also enjoyed your artwork. I guess I owe you a thank you but us Latin men have a hard enough time asking for directions.

[BlackPrince]

This wonderful poem seems reflective, romantic and nostalgic.

WELL DONE