Apr
29
Remember
I Remember January
I remember waiting for you in basements.
I don’t remember dark couches
or the last night we slept through the college
houses. I remember waiting.
I remember windows with you and waiting.
I don’t remember the men that walked
by my often-meadow, their loud cigarettes
or their misspelled steps. I don’t.
I remember you, asleep, in my one room, and
remember? —unwrapping you awake
with the color of afternoon. I remember orange,
and then you broke it.
