Aide memoire

Aide memoire
D.G. Geis

In the end,
there won’t be much left.

A tight fitting dress
and legs that scissor

the way you cut
rocks from paper.

The way you imprisoned
my hand

whenever the plane landed
or took off.

And then just as quickly
freed it.

How brutally you woke.
How loudly you slept.

How close you were
to the puzzle of your pillow—

all night, counting every thread.
Always mindful to never travel too far.

Like a parolee leaving prison
and finding a job

200 yards from the bus stop.

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