Poets try to never forget anything. Ever. But with love, well with love even the act of remembering is an experience not to be forgotten.
"Some automatic device clicked in her big brain, and her knees felt weak, and there was a chilly feeling in her stomach. She was in love with this man.
They don't make memories like that anymore"
— Kurt Vonnegut (Galápagos)
Katrina K Guarascio resides in Albuquerque and teaches English, Poetry, and Journalism in Rio Rancho. She also is the sponsor of her high school's slam team. She is the author of two chapbooks, Hazy Expressions and More Fire than Sun, and recently a book length publication, A Scattering of Imperfections
They Don't Make Memories Like That Anymore...
They don’t make memories like that anymore…
The newness of Saturday morning
still lies upon lips.
Pomegranate and mint leaves,
perfume the moment.
A drop of water, steady in suspension,
reflects a smile between girl and boy.
This fickle flash,
malleable as smoke circles in airstreams.
revives a remembrance,
crisp as coal.
You used to say, I was a sketch.
Charcoal pencil rubbing white pages.
around twisted branches.
Now, with misshapen limbs
I separate east from west,
and pretend not to feel
sooted fingertips against earlobe.
Mislaid images of a morning,
I never told you
how I like my coffee.
Didn’t want you to have that piece of me,
spread on bread to satiate appetite.
I prefer you drink me,
let me bitter,
scar taste buds,
embed my essence
deep in your mouth
until next we meet.
You look at me,
weary eyes across coffee cups.
Without a word,
call me your champion.
Steal a kiss,
tart to taste.
Leave the flavor of this moment,
for me to savor.
I would know you anywhere.
--Katrina K Guarascio
Poetry submissions are encouraged. Email firstname.lastname@example.org.