the thing is,

here is the thing…
you’re in my head, my heart, my soul
it hurts the marrow in my bones

and maybe it’s not you at all
rather the idea of it —
love at first laugh, I mean.

It got to be so bad, didn’t it?
All the anger and fights
fleeing, and the time I yelled at you
to get the fuck out of my car.

But I mostly just remember instead
the silent way the snow fell as we
on the nineteenth of December.

it’s infinite

And this is my thought—

that I will die alone surrounded by cats
after a lifetime of watching as everyone around me is
enveloped in love and achievement
while I whither on the vine
a spinster, a hag, has-been who never really was.

So I’ve relived that sweltering June afternoon in Arlington Cemetery
a hundred times, maybe more
as we hiked the hill and saw Washington’s monument
eyes filled with tears, drenched in rain or sweat or both
and that day was hard but
filled with possibility
as I drove away from you, soonafter that city
sad, but confident thinking I’d never look back
… not once.

But I was 23 then, 25 now and in hindsight I know
when I drove away it was
without direction, speeding along
not bothering with maps
and here I am
floating in an infinite abyss.

do you

Do you know what it’s like
to miss you, but you’re not
you anymore
I can’t recall when we got so far from
the pale-pink effervescent glow
perhaps it was in leaving when you
took all our love to Barcelona and
spent it along the way
and the shell that held it once
emptied is hollow as we
as it is in my chest, just
breathing, shallow breaths
hardly gasping
but how can I be mad,
upset, wondering do you ever
think of me? Listening to
the haunting tones of “Black Flies
on the windowsill, and we are…”
But how can I care still?

I love only your ghost anyhow