Every day since has broken
with a morning of quiet absence,
one step further from the days
I once had. These new days
are but a series of hours that
I count slowly and fear for
their power. I move through
spaces and crowds a palimpsest
of the words we wrote together,
and every day since blurs the
erasures only slightly – but
never enough to write new lines
in their place. I live in the
dichotomy of every day since
and every yesterday that was,
navigating the frustrating
vagueness of this new map
and its poorly delineated coordinates.
What remains is myself the
woman becoming, marred
and had and held and enduring.
I am alive in what every day
since leaves me as because
that is all there is now.
with a morning of quiet absence,
one step further from the days
I once had. These new days
are but a series of hours that
I count slowly and fear for
their power. I move through
spaces and crowds a palimpsest
of the words we wrote together,
and every day since blurs the
erasures only slightly – but
never enough to write new lines
in their place. I live in the
dichotomy of every day since
and every yesterday that was,
navigating the frustrating
vagueness of this new map
and its poorly delineated coordinates.
What remains is myself the
woman becoming, marred
and had and held and enduring.
I am alive in what every day
since leaves me as because
that is all there is now.