blimps, and yet

Written by Luke Carmichael Valmadrid
Art by Luke Carmichael Valmadrid

Your laugh lets the memories loose
and they live. A pardon over chips and salsa,
uneaten as self-drawn lines and the antiques between them
fly overhead. An old face with new furrows
breaks into familiar creases and holey cheeks — proof that
it was our senses of humor that went to school together,
for two years, like three, like maybe
many more. We honored passed time
with funnel cake in lieu of fireworks, leaving the bright lights
for our younger selves still yet to realize
they were (in love) taking steps up different stairways,
yet to grip the railings, to drop their phones, to drop each other, and yet,
we survived to thrive in errant thoughts, and today,
in bunches: a summer reunion
that didn’t punish us for being honest. I have long laid to rest
the person I used to be, I grew out my hair,
and you still know me.