Do you remember when we would go fishing together?

It was a quick walk down to the little creek that ran through your father’s backyard. We would kick off our shoes and ball our socks into our pockets and feel which rocks were the slimiest and search for crayfish with our toes. I remember you wore my hat and laughed as we walked home hand in hand and I told you to keep it and you did.

LOVE AND PHILODENDRON BY PATRICK SEAMAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 83

We lay on a white-knit blanket. The air was muggy and thick with mosquitoes. I was sick and I couldn’t smell, so you described the smells to me. You said the pine trees smelled like a green sword thrust into a frozen river, the sweet basil like a nymph’s sap-dipped palms cupped around a nose, and the roses like sacrifice.

I closed my eyes and tried to see life like you did, scents like silk ribbons and sounds like pale crescent moons, and sandy toes.

We saw an old couple resting on a bench, their bodies sighing into each other, and you cried for tenderness. We saw a group of city childre…