sometimes i need to be turned around,
lost in the terminals of how deep
i’ll let myself go into these reveries,
recalled for the sake of recalling.
when all the boys I loved have grown
too big to stay inside their childhood homes,
where now they find their wives,
unsharp like the knives
that i used to persecute their wrongs.
look at how we’ve grown older, wiser, too,
from the “chase me downs” and all on cue-
taking shots in my honor,
one for each letter of the name i choose.
all those confidences thrown around in parking lots,
like the way we now toss our small talk
‘round melting ice cream cones
and the traffic lights’ impatience.
we frequent the closest funeral homes,
as they take turns taking our own.
we house small severed hearts
but we were much too smart
to lose another without removing the cobwebs in our cupboards,
even the most private of parts.
if i made a map of all the places we
broke each other,
every twist would lead between
one of two sheets.
directing us and directing me,
back to the roads behind my backyard,
winding,
in ways i kept to myself until i choose to remember,
a comfortable reminding.
