Crushed

why is it called a crush?

is it the way he hides the smile he gets,
bumpy and wavy and scrunched
as a squished soda can,
every time he sees her?

is it the way she crumples the corner
of a candid photograph,
fingers massaging the paper
back into rumpled smoothness?

is it the way our feelings,
almost by definition, are stamped
"undeliverable. return to sender"
with all the rubber finality of a post office?

is it the inevitable rejection
that leaves hearts smashed, smooshed, squashed,
and a hundred other variations,
leaking disappointment into your chest?

or is it the way your photos and smiles,
your moments of one-way proximity,
smell happy as crushed oranges, cranberries,
allspice, cinnamon, and cloves?


PS Sorry for the delay in getting this week's post up. I'll throw in a few extra in the coming days to try to make up for it.