“The Collector” by Suzanne Highland


Found in Willow Springs 83

Back to Author Profile

When you came close enough, I wore you like a raincoat.

Black lakes, big hands, a party


you ignored me at. When asked to define dreams

you drew a circle and wrote FEARS


in it. I kept your baby photos, empty bottles

in my wine rack, kept reaching


into my bag for a hole at the bottom

I might’ve missed. They say trashing magazines


can do the trick—get rid of what does not bring you

closer. I cut the mouths out of advertisements,


blacked out

nearly everything:


You                             a lake





You at the party and I call and call.


If I were a street sign I’d be

No Dumping Allowed.


But I’m not a street sign. Me at the bottom of a hill

and you with a dog and he’s pulling on you to


Let’s go. We used to make collecting

a habit, our cups in the cabinet, stacked


by season. In summer I used to drink from your

Christmas mug, but now you have it.


Leave a Comment