Kimberly Robinson
Signifying Nothing

When you stare
you make me think of fourth grade apples
the first of the secret poems
making connections between
past and shadow
your yellow jacket and hands in pockets
how we shook the tree
and I couldn’t believe
you were standing in my back yard.
Since summertime
you make me think of a way of covering
not unlike junk food
suffocation or drowning
the odd, old comfort­­­­ of
You, my shadow
moving in and out
not always good to me
but fondly remembered.
Following dark and quiet
glancing like old friends
because that is what we are
staying silent means
I still feel your eyes reading me
like there might have been more–
but there wasn’t.
I catch you
out of the corner of my eye
sneaking silently
sidling past the crowd
I feel like I’ve stayed in place—
you’ve passed me by without moving.

Little Joe >
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