poem for c (that i hope she never reads)

i love you because of the way the sole of your right converse flops on the asphalt.

it hangs on by a tether, like the ball that used to orbit the clouds in your backyard,

creating a metronome for the life between us. 

but it started long before that, 

with saltwater sandals in the bath. 

splish splashing in the warm water until they molded to our feet. 

then sitting on my father’s oxfords, the smell of woodchips and secrets mixing in the air. 

now i carry your laughter in the worn back pocket of my jeans, 

to remind me of myself. 

i can still see it all woven into the strands of your plaits: 

reading picture books in matching pajamas 

speeding down american river drive with the windows rolled down 

the way you tuck your hair behind your ears with both hands 

each moment forever superimposed; a multiple exposure that forms the image of you and me.