why I’m scared to let go of the papers
A folded boarding card from a flight long completed.
The train ticket from the airport into Stockholm central station
a stream of small print in Swedish. Suddenly:
the clacking of the departure boards. How the American
came up to me pointing in his guidebook
and I watched him smile as I told him
directions to Sergels Torg in English.
If I forget the morning brightness
of his laughter, the particularity
of his kiss,
at least I’ve kept these papers.
A till receipt from fika,
the entrance tickets
his old email
This poem appeared in issue 19 of Under the Radar Magazine