Do You Remember
By: Rose Baijense
Rose Baijense is an English Major with an emphasis in Creative Writing. She is a chronic procrastinator and a chronic reader who loves watching thunderstorms.
when the moon stained the earth
through the oak tree, water droplets reflecting
off gray silhouettes softening
the sharp edges of the yellowed
grass behind your house? do you remember the night
we said goodbye?
you brushed your fingers
through my hair,
calling me some ridiculous flower nickname
as we swayed gently in your backyard.
Lost on You by LP filtering through chirping whip-poor-wills and
whittling leaves, i remember
you laughing into my neck, your breath a contrasting warmth.
do you remember the fireflies that flickered, around pastel
lanterns, highlighting the curves
of your face?
i wish, i had never
left.
we could have been slow dancing past witching hour
your neighbor’s porch light a flicker in morse code whispering
to the fog, the whip-poor-
wills and the rustling crickets;
we could have embraced like river otters
when they fall asleep so the river doesn’t drag
them apart
when i told you i had to leave
i wish you had pulled me closer, and tightened your arms
around my waist, whispering one more,
just one more.
i wish we had danced
for a little longer, pretending that i
didn’t have to leave, and you
didn’t have to let me go.