I saw a girl at Target, she was
me at twenty-one years old.
She had my blond hair and
simple black-lined eyes,
a red vest and black band
shirt from Joy Division’s
Unknown Pleasures.
Iconic jagged white
mountain lines I once
plastered to my purse.
The image is a badge, I know
immediately, she is cool
in the way I was cool
working at Target at twenty-one.
I want to tell her we got
bigger plans, even if you can’t
see it now, and that boy,
who torments your soul,
is just passing by. I want
to tell her we end up alright,
and all that confusion might
not get clear, but it settles.
And all that sadness, the
endless sadness fades away,
but I give her a slight grin
and muster, “I like your shirt.”
I don’t know how else to say it,
so I pay and leave for home.
4-9-13
Originally published in East Jasmine Review, 8-1-13
Sarah Thursday 