Note (11/29/21): I first started this in a UMN poetry course back in 2019, then promptly forgot about it. It felt right to return to — giving closure in more ways than one.
I remember
she says, when days passed
without a tick, and feelings shared
without a murmur.
I remember, I say, when college was brand-new,
each other’s faces a fresh canvas, and both
future and past entangled messily in the
happy chaos of that life.
I remember, she says, when we first watched
midnight turn to dawn turn to day, and
how we laughed & laughed when spoonfuls
of Ben & Jerry’s ran down our chins
to pool on the carpet.
I remember, I say, when I finally asked you to dinner,
to a dinky staple since shuttered,
and 6th floor reverberated with a roar of glee
the night our friends found out about it.
I remember, she says, when you had to leave that
very weekend for your first college camping trip,
and I felt my first regret over not being able
to partake in all of your adventures.
I remember, I say, how I felt a similarly new aching,
and penciled down a promise that weekend
under a Superior Forest’s moon that I assure you
I tried to keep.
I remember, she says, when the blue-lit glow of
late-night study sessions and Stranger Things
binges colored our first weeks and months
flying by.
I remember, I confess, when I forgot your birthdate
at the nightly dining hall reunion, and no one
would let me, in turn, forget about it.
I remember, she admits, how we tried and tried
to support one another as healthy couples do,
when all of a sudden our dorm was no longer home,
but it was I who needed much more than I could give.
We remember, I’m sure, when September felt... wrong...
no matter if once more separated by mere hallway
communication
gaps growing
until that fateful evening..
You remember, right, when I returned proud and tired
from leading my first ever backpacking trip,
for you to call me one floor down,
your temperature running hot,
soon the flint to my own fuel,
those feelings I choked down,
raw lumps of coal in my gut,
our pots at last boiling over,
saying what wasn’t true,
what we didn’t know,
what we didn’t mean,
until we calmed a bit,
hugged (did we hug?),
but what was done,
was simply done,
irreparable,
long coming,
the right time,
to walk out,
quite literally,
close the door,
to end.
I remember, yes we remember, but now…
i forget
for better and worse
most of our nicknames
what all we did on those north shore trips of ours
the feel of us snuggled close
sleeping bags under stars
why certain nights left us in shards
and others in total love
the pits in my stomach
when you weren’t okay
but assured you were
and i don’t know
if you have too
but perhaps that’s okay
you made many imprints
on my life
and i
on yours
i think to remember
is sometimes to release
like artifacts cast adrift to time
i only have some
of the good bad ugly beautiful
and everything in between
spliced and stitched and wound
in reels of ribbony black plastic
these bundled
memories
lessons
growths
pains
passions
connections
bre aks
the final things i can still offer to you
no matter if years now have passed
fully removed from each other
and i guess i’m okay never knowing
whether or not you accept them
Jake Marble 