Crowded

I told her the lobby was packed to the doors,

that we had to fight for a seat in the back.

In truth, my boots just clicked across the floors

until I found the row where the light went black.

The bucket of popcorn is a cold, oily weight

resting on my thigh like a heavy hand.

I reach in for the kernels, a slow, salt-licked bait,

eating for four while the screen's shadows expand.

I have to remember who laughed at the chase,

and which one of them spilled their soda on the rug.

I’m building a memory of a crowded place

to fill up the silence of this solo shrug.