All the things we forgot

They are in the places

we would least like to search:

the space between our hands and theirs

the place under the bed where we threw 

the manuscripts we could no longer bear

to see, crumbling like reactants in electrolysis

with the old box of tampons we stopped using at

fifteen. 

They are in the places 

we would most like to forget

the curvature of the wood grains

in the table that our hands rested on while

we watched him go

the voices of our sisters

that tugged at our acne-splattered faces,

the voices 

that said that if we could not enter this newly-created 

third world dimension, this parody, this expanse of grief

then we were nobody.

They are in the places 

we would most like to touch

the place on his skin where

our lovebites remained 

for a long time

the gap between our legs that always stayed

a gap

the hole in the Bob Dylan t-shirts 

that everybody wore,

And then we moved