Thrift Store Reunion


I thought I was collected enough

that if we should ever collide,

I would smile politely,

fill in events from the missing years,

ask about your family,

look at photos of your daughter,

and leave clear of conscience.

After all, it’s been ages.


I never even considered cowardice.

Just being near you…

my skin, sensitive flint,

set fire, recalling your steel countenance.

My heart, pounded into gummy weakness,

crawled through each rib, attempting escape.

My throat wrapped around itself, squeezing,

as if your long hands were there again.


Instead of maturely, sanely engaging,

I wept and shattered and shrunk

and shook and clenched

and stung and panicked and cringed

and buckled and revived

and pined and grieved and cursed

and burned and brightened and stifled

and remembered and ran.



You can also read this poem here