You Were You Anyway by Denise Warren
When I sit down with you,
there’s a sense of snow resting
on the branches, of blackberries
being gathered in a basket,
of the shine of a grand piano
and two miniature drums,
of birds flying across the meridian,
of a shadow peeking out
from under your cantaloupe,
of a glass of water waiting
on a windowsill, of someone climbing
into a canoe, of the sun shining off my glasses
and people walking over a bridge,
of a woman sprinkling cornflower on swamp cedars,
of leaves coming out of the ground like tongues,
of someone sitting close to a fireplace,
of someone whispering into an ear,
of a wheel turning onto an avenue
and dust sinking down a mountain side.
Read more of Denise Warren’s poetry in apt‘s third print annual, now available for purchase.
Denise Warren is a graduate from the MFA Program for Poets and Writers at University of Massachusetts Amherst. You can see more of her work in Pismire. She currently lives in Wrentham, Massachusetts, and works as a copy editor at an advertising agency.