Place Cell

From London to Berlin!
I just finished reading and I had to tell you, dear,
that if you lined all the neurons in your brain next to each other,
they would stretch that far (I'm assuming this was never tested).Wait,
it gets better. They're saying we have
a neuron dedicated to every place we've ever been,
a little Christmas tree light that blinks
when we get there, grows brighter
the more we visit. A head full of lights!
Maps of electricity wired into the gray
matter, housed in the hippocampus,
a lovely word which, for me, always conjures a hippopotamus.
There's no way a hippopotamus could fit
in someone's head! But all this neuron stuff
stretching so far, who knows? Anyway,
the bathroom, the office, sure,
they give a jolt, but imagine the light
from your bedroom in the old house.
The strands of holiday lights lining the
sidewalk from my apartment to yours,
the electricity with every footfall.
I just had to tell you, had to come over
because they say this is how we find things,
how I just found you, again,
how the brain shocks us to remember
to turn right there, follow the row of hedges
ten steps, pass the bookstore, quarter mile and take a left,
three houses down and twenty-four stairs up.
Zap zap zap,
every place between you and I on fire with this light
so bright, and so dark when I stray from the path.
When I'm not near you I become uncentered.
All my maps end where you are.

Edges

The days' sunned,
long legs stretched
off the blanket and
into the blades of night.

You'd said something
that stabbed and stuck,
but I was quiet.

It was hot
and there were ducks
and fireflies and probably crickets and you,
you were still
there,
fine,
I just don't remember the words.

You kept looking into the woods.
Tired? Concerned? I could never tell.
You went off to the trees and I didn't follow
a word you said as you went.

You came back and, almost bashful,
asked me to help pick the burrs from your dress,
to check for ticks before it got too dark.

The grass was flattened and browning
by the time we pulled up the blanket
but the blades, like us,
would recover by morning,
sharp as ever.