Poem — July 2026 — “Memorization”
Those long, falling-down arms of the trees
That frog chatter near the puddles
The crutches in the corner with their fresh signatures
Your six friends and a handful of other kids polite enough -
You count everything that can be counted all summer
Tiles, their patterns
You know the small flaws in where the wall’s paint meets the ceiling
You know the ways that heaven speaks these days:
An impression in the linen here, a lash of breeze there
***
In your boredom you become pious and generous: Like an auntie praying for all of her little ones
Even while they’re out there on their motorcycles, raising hell after work
Revving in the street
Falling for the pamphlets
Taking on every cause
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Hanging out without you
Kissing without you
Even though they’re out there and they never write
You, still young, but like someone older
Make your postcards and do the little exercises you’ve been told to do
And slap your thighs with a ruler, gentle, then hard, then very hard
Waiting for the feeling to return
It will not
***
You count everything, and everything counts you right back
Always one
Until you add in all of the other yous that you contain
Eight, nine, ten, eleven…and so on
The cabinet counts you
The door counts you
You are in a coven of mutual memorization
All broken summer long
