an old cool-whip container

i wanted to write you a story

in which we met at nine years old.

we would have found each other

barefoot and shin-deep in a creek,

water moving just enough

to carry away clouds of sediment disturbed by our clumsy steps.

not old yet enough to know i should be shy

in the presence of who you will later be,

i might have asked your name

and if you had seen any big crayfish today

and shown you my catches i’d put

in an old cool-whip container sitting on the bank.

but i couldn’t get my language down

or mask the love-story cleverly enough,

because the author knows now i would love that girl forever

dirty hands and muddy jeans and hair as wild as the wind.

One thought on “an old cool-whip container

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