From the bar where
I’ve hoisted up my sunken
shoulders. Picked up my heavy head,
half-dragged out the door. I remember
Holden Caulfield, shot
in the stomach. Imaginary but
I remember dancing with a girl who
did not love me and your
best friend.
I remember leaving the party
early, letting my hair,
the sky, fall. I don’t want
flowers or to tell anyone
anything. Only to listen to
the zephyr of wings,
to gaze at stars and wonder
if you saw them,
too. You did
from a rooftop of your own.
Maybe we decided that
is where we’ll meet. There.
Danielle Nouriazad is a poet, writer, and graduate student of English, with a special interest in queer and gothic studies. They have appeared in the first issue of Giving Room Mag. You can find them at @dnouriazad on Twitter.