A Field on the East Side
by shannon mcgarvey

Those black and white memories
crystallized rock candy
cold as coins between fingers
and pressed against cheeks

Blue and humid
itchy grass beneath our feet

Enough to dream the night
into the brightened visions of daytime
lingering as witness
the burrs on my jeans
the parts of me that never grow

A hope to die gracefully
disintegrating slowly upon trivial fascinations
and thoughts scarcely said

A clumsy match
for the muted songbird