you've sat on the edge of the bed I now sleep in every night. if I close my eyes, I see
your dark socks pacing over my carpet. & then I'm pacing over to you. your heartbeat
smiles against the better side of my face, warm. our hometown cradles us both for
the first time in two years: I wander outside to toe at the cracks opening the sidewalk,
& an hour later, the smell of the sun will bloom on your skin. I remember you memorizing
the greenery, the sprightly stance of our trees. we're memorizing my hands at your back, my
hands in your hands. what did I confess before? I miss everything. even my knees ask me to walk
to you. for a little while longer, I could walk to you, but I'm afraid that I'll never get there.
Noreen Ocampo is a Filipina American writer studying English and film at Emory University. Her poems appear in perhappened, Cr�pe & Penn, and Versification, among others, and she is also a regular contributor for Mar�as at Sampaguitas. Say hello on Twitter @maybenoreen!