Miami – Untitled 1

Write more
encourages a distant friend.
I sit down with paper and pen
new composition book
cracked open.
The pages smell like the heat of a Florida summer.

I use my words
like round headed pins
trying to match the patterns of my thoughts
to my life.

The fit is awkward when I try it on,
the shape of a memory
instead of the heart of the experience.
Maybe in rewrites
I will add in darts at the bust
and adjust the hem.
It droops a little on one side.

I have faith in time
as days pass the fabric of my memory will fuse and soften.
The fit will become better
when the hard creases of the moment have washed out.