by PAULA
When I remember you, I don’t think of IV
and physical therapy.
I chase the times you’d make me quesadillas
not caring about your crippled hands paining
you.
The picture of Spongebob that hung on your fridge is now plastered to mine.
Yellowed parchment, crumpled up like brittle
sandpaper.
When I run back to those days,
I lose myself in a green apartment complex
with a snow-dusted gazebo, two over-sized
dumpsters, and a cramped elevator.
Now when I reminisce, I itch and sweat,
like I’m in an asbestos-lined laundry
room.
You taught me to never idolize time.
And time is the one thing I
couldn’t idolize if I wanted to.
You have to have something to idolize it.
Rather, I’ll sit comfortably on your foam
bed and blue couch and let the salt sting
me, like festering bacon in a frying pan.
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