26 days sober

It’s been 26 days since the heartbreak of the century
26 days since I found out what
I knew
it’s so stupid
believing that this is it
the only thing
my heart
broken or full

it happened mid-day
the dust and the light from the street filled
me leaving an empty line
a canal where my spirit is

I walked home in disbelief
Its been 26 days
a number of days helps

I’ve stopped crying in the morning
and I’ve stopped looking for your car
in retrospect this will look miniscule, amateur,
a tantrum

we never met

He didn’t take anything I swear he didn’t I’m whole I’m whole in every sense of the word more whole than when I met him more whole than a rushing waterfall fireworks and smoke behind a skyline mid July green so whole more whole than

in the makeup aisle

in complete despair
and under unsatisfactory life
circumstances
I hold onto a rejection
of being replaced and ignored
I find the details out later, but in the
moment there is a knowing
its hovering in my hollow gut
mistaking them for butterflies
trying to understand
why they kind of feel like butterflies
the Lights above are fluorescent
zoom back to me staring
at the pink and green mascaras
a group of kids walk by
discussing who is the strongest
and who hasn’t cried
because of a death

family

I’m trying to pinpoint
the source of my suffering
my protruding collar bones
are sensing something

my lack of appetite
as i walk on the crunchy leaves towards
the early evening autumn light
around the corner to my car, hear you say bye babe
I said bye at least
hopefully it ‘s that the last time
you’ll see me

the other day on the car ride to the grocery store
you were speaking on the phone to your mom
she asked who you’re cooking for
you made sure to not name me
I’m nonexistent transparent solely
a breath fogging the passenger seat
window

she also asked if your people
got back, as in you were cooking
for the woman you’re working for
your shoes are under her bed
I don’t believe you

Mom

I went to visit my mother in Florida
she greeted me with a scar on
her forehead from when she
claims to have fallen while gardening

I told her that it looks like harry potters scar
there’s a lot of pain associated
with that scar
I can tell
her teeth are also missing
but that’s not new

half of her mouth is teeth
she says that it’s normal,
that’s what happens when you’re old
but she’s only 60 years old i tell her

when I arrived the dog greeted
with enthusiasm
my cat slowly looked back at me
in recognition
it all felt like a distant sense of home for a solid
four days
the same waves of sadness would come
and I left mute

a short story

I seemed to have lost the magic along the way. Perhaps it was stuffed in an old green backpack, lost somewhere in upstate New York and covered in leaves from several years ago. It doesn’t really matter when your in a new place or in mountain town. I’m making friends with the people I have known in a different lifetime. But still I feel like I lost something along the way.
Everyone is on a journey to a different country. I’m in a new place but still looking for that new country. Experience, yes, that is what I have acquired. Observation helps, like the observation I made of a temporary lover. That’s all I did actually. I watched him. I watched him as I let him into my house. He would tornado around my room and kitchen and then ask to use my bathroom. Announcing profound romance but not looking at me in the eye. I would watch the blood stains on his shirts. What’s crazy is the amount of effort he would put in to hide a major part of himself. The worst part, the addictive manipulative part. He wanted to keep that close. Let it shine. Let some air in. He’s cornered in the bathroom holding onto the thing that he has grown accustomed to and the ritual he would die for.