Saturday, July 7, 2018

D I S T A N C E



the length of the measuring tape we had on our hands,
that was the farthest I thought you'd go,
and we'd roll the edges,
until we meet again.

but now that I think of it,
it wasn't the 60-inch tape we were holding.


circumference of this planet; maybe that's the approximate length,
of that thread ball you decided to leave one end for me,
the other for you.

farthest you were.
the farthest away from everything that connected us.

while I was busy climbing the mountains,
messing up with the echoes,
screaming your name on top of my voice,
I'd always hope you'd hear them from your tallest skyscrapers.

we could have connected paper cups at the ends of the thread,
isn't that the best telephone?

the chilly weather,
and the snow that never melted,
maybe that's the how the thread got buried.
because when I still ring the paper cup,
it says No Service but never Disconnected.

if we happen to rescue the buried thread,
or maybe roll it together again,

will you follow me to our home,
like you followed the stars,
when we lost our way,
and you told me you trust them.

but do you trust me anymore?

and now I need to know,
because I'm still wondering,
the length of the measuring tape we had on our hands,
that was the farthest I thought you'd go,
and we'd roll the edges,
until we meet again.

until we ever do.
_______________________
 Foggy Brooklyn Bridge by:
Emanuel Hahn

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