she was five feet.

of concrete.

maps, wait.

they don't love you like i love you.

jay birds sing

and the passing of things.

day nine.

wednesday. may 19, 2010.

-

you are greedy

in the most internal

kind of way, grabbing up 

every snatch of memory,

every bit of joy your 

fingers can grasp.

holding it tight,

building it up 

inside your chest,

keeping it all

for yourself.

you do not want
to share this place.

day eight.

tuesday. may 18, 2010. 

-

there is nothing

like being remembered,

like knowing that somewhere,

sometime, somehow

you left an impression

on someone.

even the round man 

who runs the corner shop,

and never takes your money. 

day seven.

monday. may 17, 2010. 

-

she came and sat,

filled the room with her voice,

filled the yard with her laughter.

her embraces stealing your breath,

her presence spilled out over 

the courtyard walls.

and her sorrow,

her sorrow seeped

all the way 

to the very borders

of tripoli. 

day six.

sunday. may 16, 2010. 

-

she thinks maybe

this is the summer

she'll come into her gift.

if not, she can always

sit on open verandas

and drink tea over

libyan sunsets and

cuts glances from

the corners of her eyes.