You Cut Your String But Not Your Ties

Into rusted old bean cans we would talk of our dreams through a piece of red string from our upstairs windows above the side yard

Then four years later we were caught in your mother’s laundry room so called, “fornicating” on top of the off-white soap stained washer between the dryer and the steem cleaner

I wasn’t allowed to see you after that

Another year had passed until I wrote you a letter but it was more like a song when I recited it to you through that same upper floor window

By this time you had a boyfriend and I had a complex

I couldn’t help but to watch you water the lawn and walk the dogs every dew ridden morning before he picked you up for school in his high school 80’s starter car

The paint job reminded me of our rusted tin cans

I remember the day he left you for cold in front of your snow buried steps

You cried in my room the entire night

It was the coldest night of the winter and your pants were soaked to the knee

So you found yourself into a pair of my favorite navy blue sleep sweats

I held you until you fell asleep on my freshly made bed

You consumed yourself under my plaid down comforter

I watched as you softly sniffled yourself to sleep

And before I turned down the night and held you through the winter

I stared at my tin can in the corner of my room and entertained the idea that you would probably never make me your lover again

And red as that tattered string, I kissed your lips for the last time as a lover

The snow spoke of pianos that night

And the wind chimed us into slumber

A place I wanted to stay

A place that I could still dream through a string

Joshua Tool – 01/25/2008


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