a blow up pool

with water and feet in it

is what I remember from that day

and the bits of grass in the pool

and the sun

shining on me in a way

that I took personal

like it was more violent to me than it was

to the girl across the yard

with the knuckle tattoos

too far away for me to read of course

not a single hand shake all year

not a single comment

on the softness of my palms

but the feet underwater

they touch the same

I still remember my voice in the hallway

when I told you

that the use of negative space

is a key element of artistic composition

the way you rolled your eyes at me

was so specific

you said negative space is silly

and of course you were right

so I didn’t talk for some time

and I could not enjoy the art

still I kept nodding at the frames

I stared assumptions at the fresco

trying to come up with a way

to make it right

while you moved on

into other rooms

I didn’t know