You have found me,
After all these years and years.
But do you know it?
How will I know you show it?
Your look is the same,
Mine is close.
You looked at my irises,
Burning dutifully like viruses.
I saw your outline,
You saw mine and out
My heart leapt.
Just not as much as I though.
You will never find me.
Even when I am hiding
In plain daylight,
I will be lost to you.
Because I broke you.
Because you don’t want to find me.
I know even if you knew it
You would never say.
September 28, 2018
I dug through some bones,
An old home on Harding Road,
Years on Chestnut Ridge
Where things started to come unglued,
Dug to all the life I once lived,
With backyard baseball,
Friday nights in the books,
Cupcakes after the first day of class.
Dug past the past,
To where we left my mother last.
It’s been years
Since your name labeled
A joint bank account
Closing, making room
For my new bride.
You can only have two names, sir.
The banker said to me.
Yes, I’d like mine and hers. I said.
But you already have two, sir.
Already have two?
You were there from when I was a kid.
Who’s kidding, I thought you’d be there
Forever and ever and ever.
That seems possible when young.
Not being here seems like make-believe.
I gather up the mail,
This account cancellation notice,
And notice the second mail, inherent,
That it would be the new account,
With my name, a new name,
Not your name
September 18, 2018
Threw away an old photo album.
Been trying to hold onto things
That stir and spark joy in me,
And this album, couldn’t even recall
When I took these, where I was.
So it is in the trash can now.
In a photo on page ten,
A young woman ate cotton candy.
It was the traditional pink.
It made it through her digestive tract
Years ago whenever it was I took these,
Wherever it was this was.
Somewhere on earth she roams.
She has her moments of sadness,
Has birthday parties and maybe a baby.
She eats breakfast or not, vacations
In Paris, wins the lottery.
Or she is dead.
September 17, 2018