Boxing My Memory

Once
In a dream
I couldn’t pinch myself out of
I combed the wild blonde curls
From a tender head
And stroked a cheek
Soft with so little time on this earth,
Watched two small eyes
Droop with the heavy sands of sleep

I boxed that picture up
With a ring I still can’t wear
Because the garnet burns too hotly.
A grey-green picture
Of Kansas-dry heat
Across a dingy ranch-style home
That I can’t go back to,
And a note in charcoal grey
That fades with every year.

Not that I would know.

I don’t
Look
Ever

And I don’t
Share
Ever

It’s a Skechers box
Pock-marked from shoving it further
Back into the distance of a
Walk-in closet
The distance of time
The distance of memory too sweet to bear

And I realize
That I rarely
Even
Dust it off
Anymore
Because the blue of this
Is that all that distinguishes
That life,
That love,
That surrogate motherhood
From just a dream I couldn’t
Pinch myself out of

Is a box
Stuffed in a corner
That contains three items
That I couldn’t even share
With you

My blood doesn’t fire hot
When you imply I do not know
What the smoothness
Of a too-young cheek
Draped in wild blonde curls
Feels like
Because

I didn’t
Share
Ever