Memories of 1926 - Madeline Kim
Memories of 1926
Madeline Kim
i miss you like a stone skips on water,
or a transfer that screams 10:30 at 12:57 louder than mother calling from home.
and in the time it took for distance to tear the embroidery threads
i’ve gone swimming with the numbers, searching for the absolute.
i wanted to tell you that it was my birthday four months ago
(don’t you remember sixteen months back)
and that on the eighteenth,
i wished on seventeen candles, one dandelion, and the same three stars
that somehow you could gift me your smile floating down the coastline,
one more time,
like things hadn’t changed.
