I don’t think I could
untie it if I wanted to.
Time and
everything I’ve spilled on it
have slowly
fused the fibers
til they’re one.
So many
colors, now one.
Our story got mixed up somehow
just like the pieces of this bracelet.
They’re all tied up as
one.
One.
Which one of us was
married
And which one lived a spinster?
How much of this was purple,
how much green?
(My
story makes no sense
without yours next to it.)
I still wear the bracelet
that you made me
on a quiet
afternoon
Back when we had time for the sun,
and when your
hair was blond
and
I was dressed in Autumn.
I still wear the bracelet that you made me --
It smells like
peaches
and like me
(I’ve been wearing it so long)
But somehow it still feels like
you
and all the ways I cannot put away
the
memories of you
(worn through
just like this
bracelet).