It only snowed once that year and I called you.
For a minute I thought the white petals falling off the trees were flakes of snow instead of apples being born and I wondered if you think about me still. I know it's selfish, but I want to be the apple you ate once that is now your elbow. You can never take it back and you can never take it out because it's part of you now.
I'm storing you in my rib for later and I can see you clearly when I arch my back. I'm going to plant a tree on the 4128 hours we spent together and when the things I remember drop heavy from it's branches I'm going to make a pie. When it's baking it will smell like the time we climbed up to the roof and drank too much to climb down and had to stay up there for hours, and the time I cut my palms on the circuit board and spent the entire day trying to convince you I had stigmata, and the time we got all those ant bites and sand in our pants and you couldn't stop sneezing. I'll garnish it with flowers and every fight we ever had, then set it on the windowsill to be covered in snow.
Posted by Sonya at March 11, 2003 10:37 AMwhadya a poet?
Posted by: me at March 11, 2003 11:25 AMI know a guy who thinks he's a poet...
bring it on.
Posted by: mister pokey at March 11, 2003 11:31 AMShe is, indeed, a poet.
Though most don't know it.
But her feet show it.
They're long fellows.
Just joshin'.
It was quite good, Sonya Lorelle.
the longer they lapse, the more labour intensive the repairs become... that's the way it is with friendships.
Posted by: fire3500 at March 11, 2003 01:10 PMsonya, you rock. i like the way you say things most of the time.
Posted by: matt at March 12, 2003 03:36 AM