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8 x 10
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Alix Olson
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1
i pass a sign on the post
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it says "stuffed monkey lost"
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i picture some sad face
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as she twists with empty arms
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and i understand cause i remember.
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that october day you followed me home
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and in a fit of innocence, i took you in
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you were a passionate skeptic with a dimpled smile
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you framed yourself so well
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you were a perfect 8 X 10
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and now i am alphabetizing my correspondence for some reason
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and i'm guessing that's just meaning
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keeping track
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of who i've been
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you know time is just a grouchy vagrant slowly slouching past
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and i'm sneezing at the dust from all the things that haven't lasted
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he's laughing at me, time is laughing at me,
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cause in one of my piles, you suddenly just popped up
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a letter full of ellipses, like our history, all chopped up
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and it says you're crying uncle
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well i was never out to pin you down
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but i'm sputtering, i'm stuttering
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your words still blush me for a moment, now,
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so i stick you at the back of my stacks where i file your face
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in the brown box scribble-scrawled in black "things to fix, someday".
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yeah, we're wrapped in tissue paper in the attic of my mind
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you and me
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like a bad homemovie,
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where the whites are sour green
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and the family hovers over buttered popcorn
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to fill in the details of each scene
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and the tape stock in my brain sticks together
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it feels so small and undignified of me to try and remember
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you, jogging circles around the gas pump in september
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racing back to the car, giddy and spent
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and we're kissing, kissing hard
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in front of the skinny full-service attendant, frowning
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or your arms in august full of firewood,
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a wildflower tucked like a cigarette behind your ear
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you're some boy-girl fifties moviestar, in my feature now appearing
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or weeping on my collarbone and pounding on my chest
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my half-broken heroine
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my restless 8 x 10
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or that last day on the railroad tracks,
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we were two little campers
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we were swearing we'd write
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but with the wryness of counselors
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who had watched this promise happen
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every last night
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for years,
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and of course we misplaced our pledges,
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folded starshaped in bookbag bottoms somewhere,
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"will you remember?" "do you love her?"
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check here.
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and i guess our stations changed or our volume faded
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all i know is we left so different
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than we came into this,
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these lifetimes choose the ones who will educate us
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and i guess that's how it always is.
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so i buy a pack of marlboros like i never do
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and i waste six matches lighting one and think of you
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under the stoplight of this brooklyn fulton street
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my anger looks so red and cheap
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it just crumples up and blows away
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i'm rooted to the spot, surveying its fading
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my 8 X 10 is fading
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i pass a sign on the post,
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it says "stuffed monkey lost"
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and i picture some sad face as she twists
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with empty arms and i understand,
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cause i remember
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the day you followed me home.
"Eight" (Lyric Video) | Sleeping At Last
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