i’m like a time traveler,
like a mirage of a woman,
counting the mileage of my car
on my left hand
and the mileage of the grief i have no
right to on my right hand
i use an earring as a bookmark,
slipping it neatly
out of my left ear
and between papery soft
buttery loving
pages, in
the slick dead of night.
i haven’t ever told anyone
but the grass was cold under my feet
i didn’t know if i
was
awake or not
but the night seemed more
alive than death ever did.
someone calls
it love persevering
but i
wonder what it
is when there was no love.
all these paper boats i’ve written off,
a
direct descendant of his.
a bloodline shared,
a bloodline lost.
do you remember
not remembering me?
i get all my griefs jumbled in my head.
コメント