What We Remember
I've been thinking a lot about what we remember, and what we forget. We all remember some kisses, and some hands.
Michael Kreiger’s cousin his name might be Henry I don’t quite remember but I do know he kissed me in seventh grade standing by a big oak tree he put his hand on my back right on my bra strap my bra looked like two peanut shells connected with nylon string my first memorable kiss his hand was right there. On my back forever. He lived in another town so he wrote me a letter. I don’t remember his words but he drew a picture of the outline of his hand and I could feel it there.