These days
I think about you a lot
About writing you a letter—
(it would say: every day, I cut up half an avocado and put it in my salad for lunch.
i remember how you used to eat avocados, with a spoon,
scooping barbeque sauce from the pitted center)
Sewing hair on hair, you made a long braided lock,
detachable and impermanent,
(you wore a different hair style each week)
like the studs you stabbed into black denim,
one by one, while I talked to a long lost friend
and collected dog hair off my own skin tight jeans.
Now your arm is dyed
In twisted shades of dark ink
And it’s hard to see that first black/green star.
Time has passed. I like to imagine you in old age--
Wrinkly skin, misshapen tattoos,
An inspiring lack of regret,
Doing whoknowswhat.
But I’ve never known how you thought of me,
Or how you might think of me now.
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