Let's fold our legs up and press backs into sofas and chairs
To re-hash our stories
The snapping turtle in the crib
Stuck in the snow-mud on a spring day
In freshly cut jean shorts
Which one of dad's failed business ventures?
We'll protect each other (ourselves) from pricklier washed out memories
I know mine are:
A feeling of forgotten-ness
A vague dread of being in trouble spread wide around
And something too about not being enough

I've heard glimmers of yours,
But don't know them by touch
In the dark of night
And soon you might be too far away to ask.
But I never seem to rest my head on your shoulder
even  when you're near.