she finds me curled up in the front seat
crying knees pulled up to chest
asking why over and over again in a voice
that’s not mine. she rescues me
by opening the door, holds me
until I say, at least I managed to drive first
which makes us both smile a little.
what I really want to say is–
I remember a million details about you
I wish I could share with someone
because I can’t share them with you.
your height and how it’s two inches above
average. the color of your old
tennis shoes, the hole–you have new ones now.
your favorite non-color and the color you think
it goes best with. your favorite
donut. favorite
popsicle. favorite
way the wind blows and the ground
feels under your bare feet.
these words were never meant
to stay inside me.
this body curled in the bed in the dark
was never meant to be alone.