may tell you i've had little
inside my head. however, the
little inside my head wondered
when the burning inside my
chest would finally consume
my fragile frame in an arduous,
merciless, collapse of ashes
and flame.
i can't hear my struggles,
especially when my ears face
the western wind--i don't
know what it is i have endured,
though the pictures and their
empty frames try to explain
the ache behind my eyes:
the ache for which i have no
words, barely define.
i feel acutely the space beside
me, though i cannot remember
their names, who i was supposed
to miss. in the moment my chest
rises i wistfully find your face
under my palm--oh yes, this
was what love felt like--but in
the falling flesh i fold up like an
outdoor chair, rusting and wasting
away in the overgrown backyard.
i see myself walking different
sidewalks and breathing warmer
air, but i pull myself back into
the world i created--asked for--
i must push on. i cannot begin
to wonder, to hypothesize how
things would be different--if only
i had chosen more carefully.
in the rise and fall of a sigh
i've made my bed.
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