The Paradox of Palindromes

The Paradox of Palindromes
By Noah Gordon
Perhaps when I write
your name, it’s a way
for me to remember.
The way you tugged at my sleeve, imitating
the girl you saw on the subway that morning,
and that night we spent
watching the bent back trees,
discussing the paradox of palindromes.
To remember how I high fived
you, at the crest of the lake,
and how you went flying on your ass.
Perhaps when I write
your name, it’s a way
for me to forget.
The way you offered me your cheek,
and how I was too shy to put my lips there.
And that night at the torch-lit diner,
and walking down that narrow stair-case,
and that time you ran after me.
(How good does it feel to be ran after?)
Most of all,
the way you walked away from me
on that colonial evening,
under a low hanging moon,
and how my heart cracked open, gently,
like dry earth
being trampled
underfoot.