A Lesson

How do I know

that your dreams align with mine

when the sky won’t open up

for you the same way

it used to under the mulberry tree

we’d play classes–

you: teacher one, me: teacher three

lessons on vanilla wafers,

chocolate munchkins,

and how Dr. Seuss really needed some practice

in rhetorical grammar.

My blood doesn’t move

as he inches away,

carrying “you” back to “stranger”

and “us” back to the bottom

of the trunk where “I love you”

would, one day,

be carved.

September 22, 2014

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3 thoughts on “A Lesson

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