Know Me

This
is where I keep
the heart
that is not
pinned
on my sleeve
and soft
as babies.

Creamy pages,
napkin tatters,
thick journals.
They
will know me
best.

These
are places
where I speak
truth,
where I weep
in characters
and symbols
during late nights
when headlights
play across
the blinds.

Rustling papers
will remember me
best.

My heart
will be found
pressed between pages
some day
long hence,
dried like beans,
like wedding flowers,
like butterfly wings.

I hope
that it is
your soft hands
that recover
these moments.
Collect them
like relics
and gather them
to understand.

Know me
best
even when I
have forgotten
the tenor
of tears,
the breath
of living,
the miracle
of survival.

Just
know me.

 

April 19 2006

Kristen Gilpin