Inside your head, I imagine by now
there must be a billion old memories swarming
clamoring for your attention as midnight sails past
and you lie sleepless, a captive viewer
of that persistent, disconnected display.
Is one of those memories, I wonder, a girl
green-eyed and wild, just this side of crazy
Corona-tipsy and starlight-stoned
who traced inside a heart your name plus hers
in the sand where she taught you to samba
and to whisper te amo, bewitched as you were
by the light of the Cozumel moon?
The girl who once would’ve traded her soul
to be more than a memory hitching a ride
on an aging, randomly firing neuron
as midnight sails past and you lie sleepless
so far from the Cozumel moon.
Peggy Schimmelman lives and writes in Livermore, CA. Her work has appeared in Bella Mused, Everyday Poetry,The Las Positas Anthology, and 100wordstories.org.