time machine

Grab the fuel for the time machine.

The keys are tucked in my coat

next to the matches that will light candles

for all the birthdays we've missed.

We'll wipe our boots before we step inside,

point to the hot pink circles on the map,

and check the mirrors for objects trying to follow.

Did you wrap our dinner in parchment

and bring the best of your vinyl?

You'll tell me again your curated tunes

always spin in digital chapters.

But you bow to my nostalgia

and vow a turn around the hi-fi when we settle.

I remembered to pack the napkins and gummy bears.

We'll bite their heads, swap their bodies

for two-toned confections with

no flaws in flavor combinations.

Now check the gauges, check the windspeed.

Let's drive this machine in infinite loops,

hand over hand,

hand over wheel,

find the stops where we once were,

where we want our last kiss to be.

To the east side of town where

we clinked bottles of beer,

everyone blind to how

our knees anxiously touched.

To the spots we sat separately for a film,

engaged in scene and snack critiques.

To leaden moments that clung to sorrowful song.

The lavender sheets and chilled champagne never shared.

The site where a memory erased was an offer denied.

The halls where your name spoken

would never feel like consequence.

The matching fireplace stockings,

cinnamon gum, bad dancing in the kitchen,

finger-written messages in the shower steam.

To the places we'd never nap,

the places we'd always find ourselves entwined.

A toast to our finite collection of souvenirs,

our journey forced in parallel.

I'll savor each sentiment,

leave the keys,

and take the matches.

This poem is my submission to this year's Slackpole edition of the Athens Flagpole magazine. Update to come once I know if it gets published.