I wrote this as a prompt for a class, in response the Charles Bukowski's poem Memory. Any similarities are intentional.

 

 

I’ve memorized barefoot summers and the difference between

grass and asphalt and the gas pedal.

 

I’ve memorized names of flowers

and how it feels to see the earth

crack open,

green and soft,

after the snow melts for good.

 

I’ve memorized the sidewalks I’ve run down,

the bends in the road,

the paced breathing,

the only thing methodic I’m capable of

and I’ve since learned how to be happy

without that kind of

obsession.

 

I’ve memorized the look before a kiss.

I’ve memorized vulnerability

and longing.

A lingering glance, fingers over skin

hesitation that never wants it to end.

 

I’ve memorized everything I’ve never said,

and everything they’ve ever said,

and everything I wanted to say.

 

I’ve memorized warning signs.

I’ve memorized how to cut and run,

and the look of leaving time.

 

I’ve memorized the names of constellations

and the ones between your shoulder blades.

The birthmarks and dimples that make you

different

from everyone before and after,

but I’ve memorized theirs, too.

 

I’ve memorized the temperature

of tile floors on bare feet

and I know how it feels to run

from the burning and the cold,

dancing from patch to patch of grass

or rug to bed to table

to avoid the lava

and I remember that game, too.

 

I’ve memorized addresses and driving directions.

I’ve memorized hiking trails and exit signs and campsites.

but I’ll never forget how to get lost.

 

I’ve memorized the artwork of albums I don’t know the names of.

I don’t know the songs

or the stories

but I can pick one out from a distance,

in a box in a basement

and I’ve memorized the way they make me feel

and I can’t forget the places they take me back to.

 

I’ve memorized the smell

of airports

and cities I’ve only spent layovers in

and the recycled air in buses.

I’ve memorized the songs of birds

and how they change with the passing seasons,

calling to each other after months apart

 

but I know the distance and the time away

fills the places that used to

click together and

 

it doesn’t feel the same

and I’ve memorized the way a body changes.