A dead man’s nostalgia
Don’t forget me, please.
The old treehouse and its rotten ladder,
Those baby pictures laying on the dusty counter,
Old drawings on the walls
from when laughter and cries would echo from them,
Dirty handprints on white doors,
The broken snow globe in the attic,
Don’t forget me please.
The knife of a good carver
Is love always this good?
With its wings of maroon silk
And its sweet golden arrowheads.
Like the knife of a good carver,
It’s shaping me, not cutting.
Thank you for this love,
For keeping me from plummeting,
For inhaling my sorrows
and exhaling goodness.
For carving your name into my heart.
For each look of your luminous eyes
makes me feel like a moth mistaken
for a butterfly.
No tear I am shedding over losing you
Can ever wash away your name.