A list of all the places you've ever sat to think
Or sat and then thought, without having set out to.
Keep a record of every crescent moon you've pressed
into your own skin,
the baby teeth, the earring not lost,
Pretend you are a child. Explain
things to yourself so that later,
you can use it, so that later,
you can remember.
In a squashy brown recliner
with my brother. With my friend
from across the street
I'm not supposed to cross by myself,
on our knees, with our faces out the window,
with our elbows pressed
on the ancient iron radiator
on each other's.
In crayon, the grassy smell of a June afternoon
what sun smells like,
sweat and blood and bark.
Describe something else as "an afternoon in June."
