I keep the moments
coins in a piggy bank
but I love the rain, so I’ll save them for sunny days
when the shadows and trees all look the same
and I’m trudging uphill to get to my next class,
hours drifting past like sluggish clouds
his smiles are pennies—the heads-up kind
the ones he reserves for late nights
sipping coffee from a shared mug
bathed in yellow lamplight
legs crossed, side-by-side on the futon couch
passing the phone back and forth, sharing music
nickels and dimes for each expression
he’s cast in my direction
the time he returned with two bags of chips,
offering them in the harsh glow of the ambulance
direct eye contact, a lion bringing his mate fresh meat
or the evening he glanced across the table
I stopped chewing What? and he
wouldn’t tell me what he was thinking
but his features softened like room temperature butter
thumb grazing my cheek
our hearts beat as equals, I like to think
I collect his histories like state quarters
some are tarnished, redundant, old
I keep them all the same:
how his parents met, his youth spending cold weekends in tents,
the books he’s read while taking the less-traveled path
and one of my favorites: standing on the side of a mountain,
listening to the words of a stranger, a man,
telling him all about how rewarding it is to be a paramedic
I almost imagined I was there, bearing witness to that moment
one of the many that delivered him to me, to me
that quarter is South Dakota; that moment is his traveler’s tree
his water in times of emergency
I like to think, I like to think because it makes a beautiful scene
his laugh—the real one, the one that echoes through his chest cavity,
the sweet ring of it grounding me like gravity—is silver dollars
to keep, not to spend
to examine the quality and recall how one acquired it
through blissful nights, fingers gracing thighs
wearing love on the outside
that’s what eviscerated means now
the guts of our emotions hanging from stomachs
vulnerable, exposed, susceptible to infection if we’re not careful—
I cherish those silver dollars, his iridescent laugh
waking up alone in the morning,
it’s the first thing I’m afraid to forget
moments like coins, I collect
until that piggy bank overflows
and I’m rich with shared memories
the spaces in my brain packed with thoughts of him
like atoms in an interstitial alloy, like steel
I like to think, I like to think this is only the beginning
so I’ll keep a piggy bank and I’ll mark the dates
and on sunny days, I’ll rifle through the contents of the jar
savoring every moment like a starved woman with a chocolate bar
