STRANGE, THE SELECTIVE MEMORY

Here's a new poem I wrote today. It comes from a place I was in after a discussion with a friend. Yes, I'm in an interesting mood. And, yes, I'm done editing things out of my poetry.

STRANGE, THE SELECTIVE MEMORY

I preserved the sea shells you picked

from the east coast in a canning jar

the jumpsuit orange

sticky note on your lunch bag

folded shirts into uniform rectangles

& weighed the permanence of owning a spice rack

the first night we fucked with

two box fans in the windows, arms reaching

through the dense heat

i’m bent on forgetting

how everything leaves you

breathless in the same clothes

on the second day