A Three-Part Euology For a Summer Afternoon
by Caitlyn Wolper
i.
stand lost in memory on the hillside
because people will pass whether you notice
or not; they are
shapes against the sun, indistinguishable:
blurred by gray sunlight
and circumstance.
do not let this age you.
there are rings around your
fingertips, and i’d like to cut
you up lengthwise and figure
your age. are you too
old for love? i sliced you, and together
we bled red ink
into our weathered blue veins,
pockmarked our skins
to circle the future
we’d like.
(in fine print, i could not read
your lines)
and maybe i could have loved myself
if i could have loved the rain,
but the ocean’s onslaught frightened me,
and i was a constant, toiling flood.
ii.
yesterday i forgot my medication and
your name, pressed a sticky note to your
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