i realized i forgot to say i love you
didn’t know i could love you. if / words were meant to elaborate on
after you flew through the monkey
bars and soared to the ground.
when we swapped flash drives and
wrote parts of each other's stories.
it got stuck in my teeth and you
laughed while spitting sunflower
shells onto sod. your cheeks
reached your eyelashes while
smiling and i had never known
someone so kind; someone so
ready to skydive off the moon and
shimmer. sticking side by side
through baseball and basketball, i
didn’t know i could love you. if
words were meant to elaborate on
us, we would have to wait until the
waves left the sea to learn the
language. do you ever reminisce
and remember driveway PIG or
midnight microwave nachos? do
you ever not miss me but hold
pinkie promises to the heart and
wonder? braid your hair and crave
my hand above, showering you in
pixie dust and adoration? look,
kids are mean, but i knew you
before social media or suicides.
back when bedrooms became
ballrooms and our parents' favorite
songs blasted from the radio. whenalmost anything was possible.
Laurel Reynolds (she/they) is a poet who attends Brandeis University for an MA in English Literature & Women, Gender, and Sexuality studies, though she will always be a Twin Cities artist at heart. Laurel’s poems have been published through The Tower, Moss Puppy Magazine, Marrow Magazine, Devastation Baby, and more. Their debut chapbook, Swallowing the Ash (BCP ‘23), is out now. She’s currently training her cat and living radically. Check them out at laurelreynolds.com!
