Day 47



I don’t know how the mind decides
which memory to ship across
the ocean of consciousness,
or when to do it, or why,
but it does.
When you took the blue pickup with your best friend
into the summer field and screamed
to call the sky close. When you seemed so small to yourself
you scared your lover with the length you’d go
to be right. When your father waited by the phone
but drugs were on the table.
When you first heard that song.
Your morning eyes open
and some mix of all this
socks you around
the day, renders you bright
and alive or suicidal
or ambling around
some limbo between.
All you do you carry.
I could tell you to be careful.
But I want to say
be brave.


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