More from Featured Poet Phoebe Salzman-Cohen
Another of Phoebe’s poems… interview tomorrow!
We write our names on brick walls
and on the sides of bus stations so
they might go somewhere
and we wait for someone to remember us.
We turn on the radio to listen to this guy
who was famous by the time he was fourteen
My friend thinks he’s sexy
and closes her eyes in the back
of my mother’s car when she hears his voice
But he makes me step out of myself
like he’s a lesson in how to be better and
all I can do is listen. I try to leave fingerprints
on my hands
He is singing about being left behind
but you can’t be abandoned if
you haven’t been found. It’s dark
but I can see us on the windshield like
we’ve hit it. My friend is shivering and
she doesn’t notice because she’s
pretending to move somewhere else.
I tell her that I can’t wait to learn
how to drive, but I don’t
know where to go. I want to drag our names
through everywhere and leave people
remembering what our handwriting looks like
When the song ends, we
lift ourselves into the driveway,
opening the gate like it’s monumental
and mumble new names for each other.