Dented Cans
I remember those
Dented tin cans
The string communication
Of my childhood.
We lived in first story houses,
Telling their fourth or fifth
As we stood on the other side
Of a world without the grey.
Eyes screwed shut,
We shouted excitement into
Our fathermade walkie talkies
Chicken noodle
Clam Chowder
We were always running wild
Chasing what we already had
Our adventure and
That’s gone
You said
Life ends at seventeen.
But here we are,
Here you are,
My childhood love.
Standing so close,
One string length away to
Touch your hand.
That must have seemed longer,
Once.
What would it take of me,
From me.
To press the still sharp edge,
Tasting of clam chowder,
The ocean that you hear in
The echos,
Into my cracked upper lip
And reach out through
These shells of us
Let these ruined wires say
What I cannot.
“Hello?”
Means
I miss you.
Copyright © Iris Blade | Year Posted 2018
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