𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

for carl solomon

i'm stitching myself into a pair of jeans for you, carl solomon
playing balance beam on the tracks behind your house
sun and sky and rusty metal, i see you in stockton

carl solomon, growing up poor in middle america
the bus route you took in third grade is picture perfect in memory
breathe in this empty house like a movie set

this is not big sky country but abandoned buildings on a long road
peeling yellow paint and a thin tree line, fields in various stages of growth
you haven't worn shoes this summer, carl solomon