Mix tape

I pick up the pencil and lodge it in the cassette,

reeling in the ribbons flapping at my face

from the storm above my head.

My tongue catches between my teeth in concentration.

You watch like I’m messing with some ancient technology

from ages past.

I forget how young you are. I laugh at your expression.

Here, give it a try.

You take it and copy my attempts, finally reeling in all the ribbon.

Fast forward.

I don’t remember what was recorded on the tape,

but this is what was recorded in my mind.

I often drift by your patch

and wonder if you remember it too.

I should rewind and ask sometime.