Nostalgia
In one hand, an apology. A suitcase
pulling on the other.
Doorbells I can’t recall the notes of,
doorsteps I stood on underdressed
in winter. My wrist the temperature of a particular
trip home, the welcoming window. The rolling-down.
One oak tree I left out the first time.
The outline of whoever was there, smelling
familiar, holding the keys.
The shirt and its buttons, the narrowed
blinds.
Almost love. Almost
looking in the same direction.
(In AGNI, 10/2010)
