It doesn’t matter that I remember
the shape of your big toes
still, I want it to count for something.
I want it to mean that
my love mattered and maybe
still lives a little
inside of you.
I wonder if I come to you
while you’re driving the streets
of St. Paul or if those memories
were only mine to carry.
I was not the girl with dreadlocks,
the girl with the tattoo matching
the girl who gave you the leather bracelet
but I am the girl who made you lose it.
We climbed under the Franklin Avenue bridge
and the whole time
I wanted to crawl inside you
or jump off.
There was nothing else for me,
You always had it all.