The Vanderbilt Review XXXIII (2018/2019 School Year)

Close Enough Jasmin Norford I’ve studied you so hard I named the vein on your right forearm.

“He,” the blue blood stream of a black skinned forest Black skin Brown eyes Coffee spoons against an ink coated countenance I want to give you a name too.

As I breathe you in I draw you into my universe.

In the most literal interpretation of the word, Yes, I draw you I etch you into my daily fabric Like a, Monday morning one drop too little of coffee one word too many from “Becky” did that clock hand just get louder...? eyes drooping, voices fade to echoes kind of doodle.

Until my blurry, faded, memory disregards its illusion And I can see you.

But not as I do now, catching a train west, when I’m headed east, left to my wistful thought that maybe, just maybe, you know about this secret rendezvous we have every morning.

Or that maybe just maybe, you’re hoping that when you rub your neck I’ll get too caught up in the perfect blend of muscle, callous, and tribulation that is a black man’s hand to notice the yogurt stain on the corner of your blazer.

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