You are trying to rewrite him
into the present, into
other people, into
places he does not belong.
You must remember
long nights with gilded notebooks
and spiral ink pens,
looping your name at the
bottoms of lined pages.
You must remember
all of the poems
you wrote,
holding your finger
in between the pages afterwards
to keep your place.
But know this--
like a bookmark he
sticks out, placed carefully
to save a spot left off at.
One day, you might return
and want to flip through the memories.
You must remember
that it’s better to forget.
The corners of your paper
heart are curling in but the tears,
like the words you ache to write,
have long since dried up.
He does not belong here between
lined paper and a warm embrace, he
does not deserve your words,
you must remember.
With feigned ease,
pluck the bookmark
and allow the pages to
slip shut.
Turn to the beginning;
the first sheet will be blank.
With a steady hand
write your name at the
bottom with a spiral ink pen,
and breathe as you begin
again.
-Rory Finnegan
into the present, into
other people, into
places he does not belong.
You must remember
long nights with gilded notebooks
and spiral ink pens,
looping your name at the
bottoms of lined pages.
You must remember
all of the poems
you wrote,
holding your finger
in between the pages afterwards
to keep your place.
But know this--
like a bookmark he
sticks out, placed carefully
to save a spot left off at.
One day, you might return
and want to flip through the memories.
You must remember
that it’s better to forget.
The corners of your paper
heart are curling in but the tears,
like the words you ache to write,
have long since dried up.
He does not belong here between
lined paper and a warm embrace, he
does not deserve your words,
you must remember.
With feigned ease,
pluck the bookmark
and allow the pages to
slip shut.
Turn to the beginning;
the first sheet will be blank.
With a steady hand
write your name at the
bottom with a spiral ink pen,
and breathe as you begin
again.
-Rory Finnegan