Poetry

Bryn Mawr

on dyeing a green river greener

and avoiding ketchup at all costs

on a communal prayer

for sixty-degree weather

well into late september

or (fingers crossed) october

on ghosts and marshall fields

on the just-under three million

living here (not including us)

on saturday night

when our favorite 4am

stayed open until 5am

on the sidewalk

when you kissed me

on the mouth

under the train tracks

and the confetti sparks

came raining down

when i realized that this

was the best life of my life

and it would be several days

before i remembered

that i left my wallet

on the bar

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