|She enters with a box, my old sweatshirt draped over the top,
Sets it on my coffee table, steps back and waits,
Buries her eyes because she canít bear to meet mine,
Staring hard in self-defiance at the faded cloth
As if she were trying to make everything beneath it disappear
I gave it to her the night we snuck into Lewis Park and
Took back our playground from the present day
In navy, in darkness, her unspoken elegance was silently resplendent,
In charcoal, it was like I was never there
I tossed my bag over the fence and helped her to retrieve it,
Following in my own subtle grace while she withdrew a bottle of cider,
Passing it off so she could hang upside-down from the monkey bars and
Taking it back in whispered laughter,
She dangled there and tried to sip, but it
Just ran up her face and into the dirt,
And, even now, sheís never hated me more than
When I tried to tell her physics didnít work that way
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