Elisa Gabbert
Something to Remember You By
Note: ‘Map of France’ is Australian slang for vomit.
Last night I dreamt about last night,
with a few differences: we were dancing,
but not at a bar, at a bake sale,
and one of the Young Republicansplayed “Pictures of You” on a boom box,
and we laced our fingers together,breathing in the angel food vapors.
We stepped outside to share a cigarette,to trace hearts and our initials
on a dusty van. Then we went for drinksbut in the dream they were milkshakes,
the thickest, most never-ending shakesthat made my tongue stick to my teeth
when I wanted to tell you something.The ride back was exactly the same,
when the moon came blaring throughthe windshield, and you said I can’t quit
because they fired me, and kissed me,missing my mouth. Someone honked
outside, and I woke up alone,but you had left a map of France
at my bedside, so the first thing I sawwas the colored patches, the geography
of everything that happens.