It’s a ball of knotted string
Stuck under my ribcage.
Whenever I start to untangle it,
I break a sweat & forget
Why I even tried.
It’s thirst after a tall glass
Of water, aching, curling
Around my neck like a vise.
It’s the damp
Lingering in a spring day,
Eyes that could hold an ocean
But that never look into mine.
It’s wild, honeyed laughter that
I chase around the corner, only to find
There was
Nothing
There.
Give the lights a sickly yellow glow
Let me reflect
The scribbled-on stall doors and brightly-colored posters
Framing her face, to remind her
I remember taking Polaroids with you
In the driveway of the house you’ve now sold
On a grey afternoon that looked like night
In the photos. We’d wait impatiently
you should be an image in stained-glass windows
the same ones you trace with your eyes every sunday
while hymns echo in your ears, words
you've known so long you forget the meaning.
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