Mockingbirds

It never occurred to me to kill
anything, to consider color
in such a way that didn’t
reflect the sky. My stones
were saved for rivers, wishes,
wanderings where I might
need to know the way back,
might need to track my steps
with something older than my
own shallow skin. Begin

on page one, and trace a finger
along the words you love best.
Memorize their place. Dog-ear
a page or two, a tiny triangular
wave to call you back. Track
your own fingerprints, heart
-beats, song, when you see a
smudge, the budging of a cover,
the wonder underneath that
never fades. Blades

of grass made proper bookmarks.
Bandaids work, too. Library card.
Business card. Cocktail napkin.
The curious glue that holds to
-gether
(gather)
the years spent being
a scout,
and following
boo.
 

..
Written for Poetic Asides. 

Advertisement