Friend,
I cannot stop thinking
about the time we found
a rare pair of magic binoculars
drowning inside a bargain bin,
that shopping mall hallway.
They were made of wood,
gnarly branches reaching out
like a tree demanding a hug.
The object was magnetic,
hypnotic, a priceless alien artifact.
You had two eyes. (Warm, brown,
dazzling… Clear eyes.) I had two
eyes, too. But the mystery device
offered us far more holes
to gaze through. We argued,
couldn’t agree who deserved
to take the tantalizing plunge.
(“You first!” “No, you!”)
Hmm. And no price tag either.
The salesperson behind the counter
also had two eyes. But those grew
larger and larger when they saw
what we were clutching, linked
between our bodies like a
swinging toddler. They pointed,
sputtered: “That! That is not yours!”
They snatched treasure
from our collective hands.
So in sync, our voices became one:
“We were trying to pay for it!”
But it was too late. We would never know.
Friend,
I cannot stop thinking
about the time we found
each other, drowning inside
an ice-cold skating rink.
My freezing hands disappeared
within the sleeves of my sweater
but you coaxed them out,
held them with those woolly gloves,
introducing yourself with a firm shake.
We skated around in circles like that
with interconnected limbs,
until the dizzy-making walls came at me
too fast: an optical-illusion mural.
“No!” You slowed. “Don’t close your eyes!”
So I opened them wide, turned to the side
until they met yours. (Warm, brown,
dazzling… Clear eyes.) We both had two.
Friend,
I cannot stop thinking
about the time we lost.
The seconds, the minutes,
the clocks across the city ticking on,
collecting the abstract and intangible
into hours and days and weeks
and years. I cannot stop thinking
about the time I jumped
to contusions (and confusions),
concluded you’d stabbed me
in the back with a sharpened skate blade.
The time I didn’t even let you explain.
Didn’t allow you to tell your side of the story.
And now it’s too late. I will never know.