What do I have? I have a peeling postcard with a rabbit on the front and a twenty cent stamp on the back. This is what it says:
“Adrienne from Providence loves you with all her heart.”
I haven’t seen you since the purple afternoon when our bus finally broke down. That morning you bought a transistor radio and a bag of berries from an old man in an old city.
Back then, you used to roll up your pants to ready the day.
“Think of the things we can hide in a guitar case,” you said.
We were criminals like that.
“We’re not ashamed to fight,” you said. “We’re ashamed to win.”
Then we rolled to a stop.
You walked north. I walked south. Each of us scrubbing huckleberry fingers that we knew would never come clean.