they were talking about their money and their parents’ American dream
I was listening intently while also falling for their hair cut
I was taking in the shape of their pain, so like mine
and also the shape of their head, so exposed at the sides
and the way the fringe faced the world head on, so strong, such a sharp, bristled line
their warm eyes as they told the story;
I tried to make mine a warm place to land
Earlier I told a little chunk of my truth and my heart, still fluttering,
finds rest as it lands on the leaves of their life’s telling
settling between the prickly bits underneath
When they finish, we all thank them for sharing
my own lips make that familiar sound too
while my heart asks
will you keep speaking to me
can you hold my gaze a little please?
could you hold me in your story forever?