09.12.04 - 5:41 p.m.

while i'm at antique malls with the boy who
inherited my politics and old sweatshirts until
he grew too smart and tall, you are in manhattan
maybe, crossing a busy street, wearing a scarf
or riding in a taxicab, watching the meter tick.
i'm sifting through black and white pictures
of proud couples in front of first cars,
babies in shiny christmas wagons and pretty chignon-ed
evelyns modeling the plaid shirtdresses they'd
just finished while your face is menorah-lit,
bespectacled, and you sit down to dinner.
i'm making you a present in my head (favor
returned) while you're completely unaware of my
existence, and though i don't know you, i think
i know that you'd appreciate that.

extremely loud and incredibly close
previous next

the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







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