27 October 2010


photo by: Bree Brackett
Our hands looked like a clamshell zippered
closed by our fingers
as you dragged me through a crowd
that I bumped into as drunk as a rag doll.
Your friend said to meet her by the light
so you walked me to every one of them,
and you stared into them squinting
until you couldn’t anymore.
I tagged along until you judged
(for the seventh time) that these
lights weren’t “lighty” enough.
I dragged myself home alone,
and tried to recreate our clamshell,
but it’s harder than you’d think.

Poem by: Andrew Graziano

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