A Pocketful Of

sticky note poetry

Yellow Nirvana by Oscar-Claude Monet

backdoor, backyard, last year
skin shaped with flowers
pockets so heavy
they press me into the pavement
a rap on the door
then two
then _______
i let my phone ring out into the honey-dew summer air
a pocketful of missed calls and

rekha mashi calls sometime in the fall
two tickets sit on the table next to an empty fruit bowl
cabinet full of medicine
the crisp sound of leaves under feet
like, stitches coming loose at the seams
pocketful of yesterday’s earphones
ones that you could still tangle and rip to pieces
and

i miss you
i miss you

i miss you i think