I found an old notebook today
my handwriting to be sure
but I can hardly remember the girl
who wrote them
the beginnings of stories
like a fleet of broken-down cars
packed for a road trip
enthusiasm laid so bare
so bright amidst the rubble
I plotted one out to the end
and left it like that
bones with no flesh
I try to re-enter the idea
but it is like licking the menu
like trying to know a life
by the talking points
for a speech
at a funeral
it’s like this with old boyfriends too
I wanted to dig my heart out
with missing
and now I can barely remember
what we talked about
were they funny
did they have
middle names.