Souvenir

Originally published in Poetry City, USA, Vol. 5

We went to the gift shop for an artifact,
something to remind us of the afternoon –
African masks and Post-Impressionists,
the sleeping guard who snapped awake
when my laugh cut through the refrigerated air,
the old German couple trading sips
from a mug in the café.
;                     ;           Among the charming,
useless keepsakes – Fabergé egg-shaped soaps,
postcards too pretty to be sent, a book
on the history of buttonholing –
you told me that “souvenir” comes from
the French irregular verb: to remember.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” I said.
We left without buying anything.
;                                                       Now
I souvenir your cleft chin, your fear
of food expiration dates, the skyline of books
piled on your bedroom floor. I souvenir
how abruptly we became unnecessary
to each other, like the bronze paperweight
in the shape of Degas’s ballerina
you told me not to waste my money on.