You literally remember your childhood as sunny.
what is a lover’s childhood? by necessity, it is
the imagined past that makes the crucial now.
You are convincing me that the parts
we are remembering together: the cherries,
the straw baskets, the smell of the straw itself —
how can it be inconsequential that you were born
to the sea, or in an apartment, or in a hospital
with eight rooms? it must matter to the love we
are about to make, if anything matters at all—
the night-colored bicycle, the stockings worn thin
from Christmases, if you tell me not to ask or refuse
to tell or make up something that was not the case,
I will still know what you really felt, how it mattered,
if not what it was— when you press close.
© Hannah Rogers