Symmetry

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