You stood outside the 7-Eleven, back when we were ten.
My skin felt dry and tight, I itched my palms,
you wiped the dirt from your knees. 1
We managed to finish high school
never questioning too much,
the good kids rarely did.
I am now a good man,
made of carbon, dust and hanging chads.2
Because I exist in physical form,
I frown at you now, full of mysticism, static air.
You’re no longer here.
But maybe you were always a dream
I couldn’t quite catch.
We both loved Art.
Yet, it was Math that drew me to you.3
I stand here now, by the water,
by your grave,
admiring the flowers
I need the answers!4
Give me a sign. I pray
with palms that tingle,
with fingers clasped tight,
as if I could hold onto
some ancient, undiscovered,
enchanted, lost art.
Whisper to me now,
I’ll cocoon each syllable
with silk threads that won’t break.
Just give me enough magic
for one last story.
1 The Georgia sun kept us a hot mess.
2 It was either this or dangling participles.
3 I copied your answers. I bet you didn’t know.
4 If you don’t have them, we’ll both fail together.
This is an older poem of mine I revised. Today is Open Link Night at dVerse and Linda is hosting. Stop by and read some more poems!