Alexandria Simmons
Printed camo more familiar than his face,
Dad’s old Army uniform is rough,
Uncomfortable, and thin.
I’d hate to wear it,
If it didn’t remind me of him.
I was once given a ribbon:
Three bells ziptied attached.
Homemade, he clasped around my neck
With double-sided tape.
It slid across my fingertips, smoothly,
The way my scissors shred it’s satin.
With dark hair, white shirt
And expensive black leather
The “Danny Zuko” suitor was different;
He publically proposed a date in song.
In my closet your sunglasses collect dust,
But you can trust that even if it were a choice,
I could never forget your voice.
The equivalent of a Chinese penny
Strung on black greasy cord
Was offered to me by a man
Who gave me vodka in a lecture.
He said it was water, but then again,
He also said I’d be beautiful
With grey eyes.
The Fourth drawled “Damnn”
When I slipped on his blue-collar button-up,
“How does getting dressed
Make you even sexier?”
But when I was screaming that he was hitting
Too much and pulling my hair too hard
All he grunted was “good”.
I had the intention to end the collection
When I met my new man, younger than me
But abundant in naivety.
Under thick woolen fabric not yet mine,
My nose tickles from a thousand lint balls.
I let him pull over us his blanket,
And I purposely breathe-in and hold close
The safety in his scent; cataloging it into memory.
Clamor 