Anonymous Poem

The residue of memories

I don’t remember seeing you the night
we swam among a monet of faces
punctured with
picasso eyes
I
remember being seen by you
in that piercing way
Searching for words
in a mouth full of wine
I choked more than I spoke
and that was more than ok
I remember remembering
that you would call
and feeling disappointed
when you didn’t
in the silly way
those times permitted
Inspired by your ambivalence I
sought the man behind the curtain
and was introduced
instead,
again,
to the eyes that filled
my own with tears
and made weak the beers
that hid me.
How fun we were then
young too,
I suppose,
funny how the sun sets
on seasons
calling the squirrels
to their trees
and us from our ways.
I’ve aged beyond the days
that separate me from such memories
and been made young,
I suppose,
by the company
we still keep.