a poem a day for a year #236

I wonder if Dylan ever thinks about his ex-girlfriend on the cover of The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan album. She's dead now and probably only lived in his mind for all these years. Her big broad smile, golden hair sun fleck bomb. The way she held him in those photographs, the way she seemed to be so free. They say she left him, didn't return from a stint in Italy. Broke his heart like a stick. But it's good and bad, mostly because she became that thing that made that song. Don't Think Twice, It's Alright. That's what they say. What things do you have? What things were once people that lived under your skin and moved in your bed and heart? Can you make magic with those memories? Do you miss them? Where do you put your pain? Will you show it to me? Will you show me your big bright scars?