|Jul/Aug 2013 Poetry|
Digital artwork by Adam Ferriss
I didn't know how to stop
or even if I knew how
if I'd want to.
We walked back
from the coffee shop and all I wanted was
to hold your hand but I didn't
know how or if I did, how to stop
so I didn't.
With the station two blocks
away, you pinch then unpinch your fingers
in the air, saying Sometimes all life
needs is a little salt. I didn't stop you,
but if you knew how to continue, you didn't.
I showed my teeth, my shyness,
said we should try that new Thai restaurant's
coconut soup sometime soon—
the air something I could almost
hold in my hands. You said
Yes, we should, and I didn't
stop you but you didn't continue.