The day is still vivid, perfectly

preserved in a rustic frame
of sawdust and concrete
exposed. It was the time when
lazy ceiling glances required
crooked neck and caving back,
a world big enough to leave
me small and wondering.

A simple gesture is all it
was, and one I was only repeating,
but a simple gesture was all it
took–a carpenter’s son
and a stump of a yellow pencil (we
matched in size and color) nestled
behind my smooth right ear.

And you whipped me around.
And your sun-blazed boulder hands ripped it away.
And your eyes broke into mine,
two slipknots on a frozen rope.

Never again.
You will be more.

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