To Staple it Shut
We both knew why we had come.
Right on White Rose Avenue.
At first, he couldn't walk past the house,
So we looped around the neighborhood.
"I remember this place," he said,
And when I glanced at his face under the
Street lamp, he smiled but it showed something
Else, something bittersweet.
We came to staple it shut.
We finally walked past the house, but
He wouldn't stop. He was afraid someone might
See us, become suspicious. "It's okay,"
I said, because I knew we came for a purpose,
To staple it shut.
"I used to ride my bike up and down this street."
"I know."
"And that was Carly's yard. I had a crush on her."
"I know that, too."
He smiled. He knew my presence by his side
Was the first in a series of staples.
A year later, he did the same for me.
Smith Avenue this time. My memories.
"I remember the view from my bedroom window,"
I said.
"I know," he told me.
"I used to climb that tree on Halloween."
"I know," he told me again.
Two different places. Two different people.
Together, we ironed it out, made the creases clean,
Stapled our pasts shut against each other.
And each year afterward became unspoken, became
A note at the top of the envelope, the one that said
We had done what we had to do and to speak of it again
Probably would not help.
We had, after all, stapled it shut, and whatever had
Been contained inside would remain there forever.
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