The summer before
the Tuscan sun was lighter than photons,
offering nothing to build upon\u2014
Siena. Unforgotten,
lost inside its own sprawling time.
I couldn\u2019t bear it.
I wanted it
darker. I colored it so.
Here, a memory reimagined with grief
for someone I did not yet know
who had not yet died:
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0a window
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0a song
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0a big black car
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0my virgin wrist
virgin by two years
because after so long
sins forgive themselves,
at least then
when two years felt like a long,
long time. Now I cannot comprehend
how anyone measures time.
We have not yet an end
to compare these lengths against.
We are lost, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Piper S. McKeever<\/strong> is a poet, philosophy student at Reed College, and strong proponent of the American sonnet. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The summer beforethe Tuscan sun was lighter than photons, offering nothing to build upon\u2014 Siena. Unforgotten, lost inside its own sprawling time. I couldn\u2019t bear it. I wanted it darker. I colored it so. Here, a memory reimagined with grieffor someone I did not yet knowwho had not yet died: \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0a window\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0a song\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0a big black … <\/p>\n