I’m in between the bookshelves labeled:

Religious studies and outer space,

Sitting at a wooden desk

In the basement of the library,

Next to a boy who won’t stop sneezing

I have until midnight. How do you expect me

To bring back

What was left behind

Cherry blossom trees on lake avenue

Trampolines with broken nets

Golf balls lost in piles of daisies

It’s easy to forget

What I came for

(I often get lost)

Basketball hoops in basements

Freckled cheeks from the sun

You asked me to explore

The Ruins

A couch worn-in

Kippahs worn wrong

We each hold encyclopedias of lived experiences, and

Many of your chapters I won’t ever 


(But one day I’d love for you to tell me about them)

I’ll tell you one of mine:

I drove to Vermont last week and stopped

By a beautiful lake

My friend Spencer picked me up and threw me in,

Everyone followed,

We stayed there ’till dusk

It wasn’t until we were driving away

Did I noticed how lovely the margin was,

Lined with beds of 


I write this

For the time you taught me Chinese Checkers

For keeping me company at the dining room table, and posing

For those awkward photos

(for all those years)

For early September,

An aisle and a bride and a groom we adore,

For white wine and little place-cards

For dress shoes and white dresses

For ballroom dancing hand in hand, and

For laying in the grass under the

West Coast stars. 

For your father, my father

Your mother, my mother

Your brothers, my brother, sister,

For you and me

Time passes by,

Isn’t it a touch so soft on the heart?

A pluck on its strings,

A symphony of memories.

I hope you’re doing well

I hope the city loves you back

(For now I’ll sit between these two bookshelves,

Contemplate whether to send you this poem, and

Maybe even whisper goodnight to New England)

I wish all the best for you, and

To see you soon.