fragment one

I know I was once full of fear, thirteen,
aware of being at the bottom, scrutinized,
frantic to follow rules and hide in a hoodie

I remember an anxious trip
through the river valley
for lost reasons,
and a lost library book

I don’t remember all my homeroom teachers

I remember the streets where I wasn’t,
a guy in a composed grey leather jacket
hanging out of a car window,
a girl draped in floral patterned blouse
out of an old dream,
and impossible tights,
I remember sandy hair,
spare rooms and half empty bottles,
and feeling like it was all too soon,
but none of these last things are my memories