a joint poem, written in twos

similies for how we are
by harriet and jocelyn

like an unexpected canary

like a music box from montmartre in 1924
that’s gotten lost & scratched & youfound it in your granny’s closet

like a fireplace, lace, & a placeyou can’t remember having been

like a conversation between two strangers who animate
as intimates

(it was never broken, you just forgot about it)
it’s lips that have been stained with red wine, it’s like
a little gray cat who doesn’t need to be fed for days at a time.

It’s like the Charleston.
it’s knowing what New Orleans tastes like
without ever having beenand forgetting what you were worried about
for just that moment

the taste of what you want
sitting on the back of your tongue:
it’s trusting (no: feeling) that the eleventh time can be just like the first

if you’ve got a pebble too it’s hop hop skip hop
and you’ll get to heaven, too
(but it’s not about that)

yes, no – it’s about all this, but
it’s just a metaphor for all this, too:
something as small and insistent
as the blues or a chalk drawing.
It is all this & nothing of it;
All this, all of everything.