By Grayson Agrella
These are the moments,
filled with anger and cologne,
that make me wish I was a scrapbooker.
I want to print out pictures of everything you said while you were drunk,
glue them next to dried flowers and stickers of clouds with faces,
and laugh at them when you’re sober.
I want to take snapshots of moments,
of the days of green tea and feeling healthy,
baking when there’s no tension to cut between us,
and the look on your face when I tell you about who I used to be.
I have no photographs of those times.
I have nothing but a yearbook of people I was not attached to.
I did not save the dropping petals
to press dry between the pages of our memories.
I am trying to catalog
everything going right
because someday soon,
I will try to replicate this feeling
and forget just where I was standing
when everything falls into place.
I started this poem the same way I start many of my poems, from a note I took in my phone after something I thought I could contort into being poetic. My best friend’s brother climbed into the car, fuming and wafting cologne. I was immediately struck by the family dynamic and how privileged I felt to be included in even the tensest momemts.
This is excellent. I enjoy the amount of emotion that was unleashed for the reader to relate to.