The fact that you wrote poetry
feels like something I should have known
instead of remembering
silly little things
like ice cream at the back of your freezer
at Christmas time
next to those blue plastic ice cube trays
we had to twist to release
before refilling them with water from the sink
and waiting for them to freeze  

potatoes with milk and cheese
you heated in your brand-new microwave  

7-up in a glass
I blew bubbles into
with a plastic straw
from a box you kept in the corner cabinet  

little things
that make me think of you
as much as the words you left on yellowed pages
as I wonder what else I didn’t know
what other part of you I missed