Laura Hartman

little boxes

dried rose petals, bark from the sweetgum, painted fingernails and
blackberry lipstick
we used to ride to the second field and lay in the whispering grass.

wrapped in tissue paper, broken glass, spiders and rain soaked
loveletters
i have kept everything you have ever given me in little boxes.

crumbled leaves, hair dye, hazard cone plastic and clay goddesses that
sing at night
love was a wash of innocence on the windows of our house.

chewed fingertips, hands small in mine, ticket stubs and music like
silver rain
a river of tears to wade in as we went down different paths.

soft belly curve, holding hands in the backseat and tripping at the lake

in the end, we chose different houses to tell our stories from