She has cities in her pockets
And keeps all the people she loves best in them
They pay a little rent and she pulls them out from time to time
To talk with the people she loves best
I don’t have a city there, or in my heart, or in the lines of my palms
But I have a heart and a mind and lines on my palms
And today I was outside
Feeling the grass, knotting it in my fingers
The sun bright and gold on my eyelashes and legs
And I stretched back and yawned and felt the warmth
Of the collected summers’ sunshine
And there, in this city
(Which may be in the pocket of someone who loves me)
Hearing new voices
Learning new names
Watching new faces
And becoming enthralled and overjoyed by the beautiful minds of strangers
Knowing how much they will matter in the future
Or, hoping they will matter as much as
This is the feeling:
Knowing myself and knowing what makes time move for me
Knowing that I will always want to hear a new voice
To learn a new name and watch a new face
All the unpleasantness of other voices, other faces, other names
Is gently blown from my waxing memory
And I move those names to a city outside every part of me.
This sun will leave my skin and this warmth will leave my arms and legs
But I will keep them on my roster
And when they come back I will recognize them, true
And best I will know the names of these, and that I knew them here
And that we shared this sun, this grass
This will make the days, the clocks worth their ticking
To know each, to name each, to be named and known in turn
And to save those blades of grass in the city where it is always the end of summer
And where there are always new faces and old, entering and leaving my pocket.
