dream/scrapbook

these two hands and
your full lips like
envelopes like
paper cranes and

the snow or grass and
the shelled-out school bus
and the blueberries pressed
between grinning fingers or

Chishimba – a memory

here’s a little story about this photo –

it was taken in april 2009, just under ten years ago, when we were still living in zambia. the four of us had just spent a beautiful week on the shores of lake tanganyika and faced a 12-hour drive back to lusaka. i had my nintendo DS lite (in pink, obviously), loaded up with an animal crossing cartridge, so i was all set for the road, but we decided to stop about three hours in to do a little more sight-seeing before stopping in kasama for the night.

Goldfish

Cities are forgetful creatures.
They inhale lovers and exhale street corners
On which we exchange first kisses or phone numbers.
Seconds after leaving, the tarmac will lose the heat of our footfalls,
The camera pans left – the stonework sighs, witnesses, does not remember come morning.

I left for a year and returned only last week;
Under my belt I have tucked months of memory and new lessons.
The city knows my gait and I fall back into step with her
She does not ask where I’ve been, and does not care to know,
But tugs at the new bells swinging at my waist and tries to reabsorb me.
We’re much the same, you see –
Outwardly unchanged, inwardly transformed, both ill-equipped to discover quite how the other has changed on the inside.