Shal l I To o ?
elizabeth norman Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Or maybe seek an original phrase to tell you that hearing you laugh is like a roundhouse kick to the ribs and a blow to the knees but never stop please, especially when the stalest of jokes my flustered mouth could muster the strength to stammer out are ever the cause please continue, though the way you pause for breath before you set down your books after walking briskly across campus is enough to stop my breathing too, it doesn’t feel like asphyxiation if I can be near you, please go on the other week when you waved at me and smiled my smile refused to fade even though the rain was pounding the pavement around me like it was trying to remove a stain I carried your smile behind mine like my own sunny day. But how do you work that into casual conversation? I’m pretty sure that exceeds the word count of a text and anyway is that really the right context to unfold the crumpled poems I’ve been throwing at the trashcan in my brain like ambitious Valentines with your name on them, ones I couldn’t bring myself to put in your shoebox. And I’m not going to Facebook chat you to say, hey, the day we met I cut my heart out of construction paper and taped it to your back as you left and I was wondering if you’d done your laundry and maybe found it yet.
29 · Persimmons