Universal Memories

It was nature repeating itself

The rain began to fall
I forgot you were in it

It was that you
were not yet a something

Regardless we wouldn't encourage others
to do it

We even left instructions
on how not to do it again

How we were setting the stage
for awkwardness knowing

that it would be awkward
tapping the mic to set up the awkward

look and awkward laugh
whose intent was to relieve

the awkwardness
and to further set up

Something that wasn't expected until
we were actually doing it

Then the moment when
we were actually doing it

Because the door was already open
And we are entering the house

to create what we will be saying
Almost like a hello

Neutron Star

I was looking for a room to rent
and answered an ad from the Collegian
It was in a house off campus
It had been raining and the leaves
were flat against the sidewalk.
They were flat against the bottom of my shoes
and when I walked into to the house I
struggled to pull them off like someone
trying to find edge on a roll of Syrian wrap.
The woman had lived there since she was a child
She was young but her dress and her hair,
and her gloves were old.
She showed me photos
of her mother who had passed recently
and that was why she had a room to rent.
Her mother's room.  The photos were of her
mother standing next to the mantle.
And another in the driveway.
And another in the kitchen
making their favorite cake
marsh-mellow almond.
I suppose it is hard losing
someone so close to you.
I walked by the living room
where a haze hung around a lamp
The air was old.  It smelt like
it came from old lungs.
She asked me,
"Do you like it here?"  The dust
hung heavy on the cushions like
the material on a neutron star.
The earth was heavy and my feet were heavy.
"We can go shopping, for groceries soon."
she said. I felt I was being pushed
out from a funnel. I was spinning.
That a white hot blast of air was behind me.
"When can you move in?" she asked.
"Soon." I said.
Nowadays she calls me once or twice
a month to ask me when I am going
to stop by and sign the lease.
"Soon." I say.
And sometimes I see a number on my phone
it pops up out of the blackness of my screen
At first nothing happens
but then when I know who is calling
a heaviness sinks deep inside of me
deep to the thickness of who I am.
I let it go until it is virtually undetectable
weighed down by my unsigned hand.