On the messy collage of pictures on my wall
are three hot pink Post-it notes - all blank.
I put them there because I was appalled
at you that night that you were quite frank
in telling me to grow up. "Fucking goodnight,"
you'd said. And so I covered up your face -
three times - I was crying and knew that the sight
of you needed to somehow be replaced.
The first Post-it hides a group of us at camp
last summer. We pretended we didn't like it there,
but part of me wants to go back to the damp,
sticky days and mosquito-bitten nightmares.
And why not? The bottom of the Post-it has curled
up, and (though I try not to look) your arm shows
underneath it. Such a small image starts a huge whirl
of memories; seeing it makes me miss you, I suppose.
The second Post-it blocks out you and Jenn
playing on exercise equipment New Year's Eve -
only two months ago. You were speaking to me then.
So what's the problem now? Was I naïve
to think that friendships last forever? Maybe so.
Perhaps for weeks you had it in your mind
to turn me from a friend into a foe -
would I see it in your eyes if your face were not behind
the third pink Post-it? This one is over the image
that I most long to see. The picture is all dark -
I covered up my flash in order that your visage
would be lighted only by the consistent spark
of your stupid blue photon beam that you use
like a flashlight, consequently blinding everyone -
it's a weapon, you know. Is that news
to you, or do you shine that thing for fun?
Why do I care? You're not around anymore.
I've made every effort: emailing, calling…
Maybe when I go home next, I'll knock on your door.
But you'd probably ignore me and I'd end up bawling.
I don't understand what you think you've gained -
are you making me hurt so you can secretly gloat?
Little do you know, you've lost; I can mask my pain -
and you - behind three hot pink Post-it notes.
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