It’s so hard to remember when it’s wanted
Tori Eberle
I.
I try to notice things,
big things and small things.
The fading murals on industrial buildings
and the tone of your voice every time
you say my name.
II.
But I’m still scared and worried
about missing anything,
everything.
So, I cling to the muscles of your back
with my eyes searching for meaning
in the movements of
your breath
when you sigh because
I asked you something—
the same thing I always ask
because I want to remember
the shapes your mouth
makes around certain phrases
Forever.
