I keep thinking there's a radio nearby—
 in the room one over or on the street.
 I keep thinking it's the song you hummed
 a verse of when we studied together—
 a book report and the same four lines
 over. I don't remember the end—
 If the kids make it off the island
 or beyond the chorus

 And someone asked me once why
 I stopped wearing the sweater with the
 crossed-stitched daises and I must have forgotten it—
 wrinkled at the back the of the closet,
 daises withered and worn by a monster or the face
 of a corpse this field of flowers grows from 
before me

 There is wind in my ears and
 Auld lang syne over a kiss—
 and something as hot as fireworks
 brings the snow to a stop until all that
 is steady are the bubbles of champagne
 carrying this memory to the silver air

 And my mother is reading Arabian Nights—
 brushing the hair from my face
 and I'm asleep before you'll never know,
 dear, how much I love you and,
 really, I'll never know but for the kiss
 on my forehead

 And I'm not sure what you gave to me
 when it all ended—words to turn over
 in my sleep until they were inside
 out with the tag showing everything
 but the price of not swatting away the buzz. 

Oh, My Word! Olivia would love to hear from you after reading this poem. Leave a comment below!

Home

Oh, My Word! is a weekly updated blog featuring fiction, poetry, drama, and essays for the world. #OhMyWordWednesday

Hit “Like” if you enjoyed the post, and don’t forget to subscribe!

bootleg emily dickinson

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: