Yellow

You never notice

that the past is folding

itself over and over

a napkin stuffed in a coat pocket

maybe three months later

when I run out of clean clothes

I’ll put it back on

and due to anxiety stick my

sweaty hand inside to give it an

obvious task

and there find the brown snot stained

reality

A lemon sat for weeks on end

maybe a year

in a bowl in a cabinet

in a kitchen in an apartment

in a neighborhood in a time

that we shared

and when we finally moved out

it had turned to stone

You see

you don’t see

the process

just look back one day and know

intuitively

that everything is different

lemons turn to stone

I can hear myself

and all my bright yellow immaturity

thinking: I’m so in control

so ripe for life

and grimace

stone faced and alone

in a completely different kitchen

wiping my face and beard

of egg yolk

with a paper towel

that now crumpled up and thrown away

will come back to haunt me

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