Your Heart: My Sleeve

I still old my t-shirt sleeves the way my cheerleader friends taught me in middle school.
I still scrunch my hair the way Desiree taught me in the band room.

I wear a ring my best friend bought for herself at 17 that she doesn’t even remember.

I churn through the memories, sticky taffy,
pulling them apart, stretching them out -

The bowl shattering on the tile floor,
The things you’ve said to me

Echo forever.