diary of a 20 something

the stain

i should wash it 

the oatmeal sweater with the splotch on the sleeve 

i wonder, what did you eat? 

carrot juice, tomato soup?

if i wash it than this testament that you were here,

that you wore this sweater before i did, is gone

and i don’t want to be the one to wash away your signs of life 

i want to see the orange stain 

and wonder, what did you eat? 

because you ate 

we ate, together 

i have proof

---

transient autumn 

we started green 

unabashed 

fear, we hadn’t learned

the rain it poured 

the sun it shone

we grew, grew, grew

and the earth became cold 

our leaves transformed into something beautiful

from golden

to auburn 

to sepia that crumbles underfoot 

we burned bright until we were nothing

fragile and frail 

some of us got stuck to the pavement

leaving stains of our presence 

like drawings on a cave wall

we were here 

whether you remember us or not

whether the rain washes us away 

our time has come 

here and then gone again

---

menthol cigarettes

i’m not a snitch you told me when i asked why you never brought it up 

i’ve never smoked i told you 

i found the cigarettes you declared 

i laughed those aren’t mine

you flipped two upside down to prove that you’d been there 

to tell me that you knew 

but i never opened the box 

i just liked them in my glove compartment as a memory 

a memory of the boy who left them

a memory of the boy who i emptied most of the box for 

and then they became a memory of you

---

it’s night again

i tell the time 

by the church bells cacophony every half of an hour 

by the buzzing of my ceiling from my neighbors television 

by the electric toothbrush as it whirs from the bathroom

by the late train’s horn as it crosses the road 

the time tells me 

by and by and by and by