the brains of animals 

a family friend texted me today 
asking, "do you remember me?"
& i thought how rare an occasion 
it is for someone to ask that &
if i've ever asked someone else
the same question. 
he came to all our holidays:
easter, christmas, thanksgiving.
we have never been extravagant people 
but him coming brought
a certain occasion. no one
visits for holidays now, it's
just us. calling him a "family friend"
feels wrong, formal & cliche.
who are all these people?
i don't want an address book:
i want a collection
to keep them in the living
room where i will spend each day
catching up, asking what their
favorite breakfast food is now
& if they've read a book this 
past year.
i wonder if there are people who
i wouldn't remember
if asked. would i pretend?
would i nod & say 
"of course, 
of course, holidays 
were nothing
with out you." how many people
can we keep in our heads?
i'm thinking of mugs &
teacups inside of skulls.
an animal cabinet.
i see all of them: the dolphin
with a great big mug
full of ocean textures
& smooth blue faces. 
the rat with a play tea set cup
spilling over with 
the last fives humans 
he passed in the subway. 
then there's the dragonfly
that flickers around
between May & June:
an ornate & beautiful cup, metallic
& multi-color
in his round insect head 
that he dips:
filling & re-filling with thoughts
about the different bushes outside
my parent's house and/or the trail
by the creek. 
would he ever have
room for me if i were to make
enough impression on him?
if i were to go out each day,
extend my hands & let him 
explore across my skin. 
his limbs:
walking wishbones, 
the wind 
blowing him over, spilling
his aluminum memories across 
a patch of grass.
i go outside to find 
a whole tea set on
the side walk. i take 
the set inside & keep 
it for myself. 
more memory 
for me.
had it belonged
to the dragonflies?
to the ants? the moths?  
and so, i told him "yes, yes of
course i remember you,
holidays were nothing
without you,"
but felt wrong, simplistic.
the limits of a text message,
are what kind of betrayal?
i sat thinking of the cordial
cherries he used to bring
for holidays & the book he
got me maybe eight christmases
ago that i still have never read.
i take one of the tea cups
& pack it in bubble-wrap,
sending it away to him.
i want to write
at the bottom of the cup
about the brains of
animals but i feel like
he might not understand.
maybe someday he'll find
some use for the cup. 
i write names on slips
of paper, dropping them inside 
of mine. this is futile though,
they always turn into 
dragonflies.