if i close my eyes maybe
i’ll remember everything
i shoved under my floorboards
after you told me that i think too much
i didn’t know what to say to that
except that the tendrils of steam
from my morning coffee are wrapping
around the sunbeams tye-dying our
kitchen table flamingo-pink,
and sunday mornings smell like
laundry and a thousand i love you’s
picked up off the floor from where i last
let them roam free and collect dust;
i have to run them on delicate to make
out the grooves and capture the feeling
of the woman in the army-green coat
who held her daughter’s tiny palm
and whispered those three words
i am a collector
i have loose change and loose
teeth and loose dreams i still beg
to fall from the sky like the stars
sometimes did when i was young
and the window was a pedestal
for my hope to dance on
i have armfuls of chocolates and
bottled air that smells like the sea;
i have been told that i think too much,
but i'd rather dance around a shattered
heart than trudge through the mud
with blinders on to avoid pricking
tender skin on the truth
my floors are coated in letters,
trace them like a map until you find
the word you have been looking for
