Of Bluster and Breakups

it just sort of happens.

not that thers any map
almost
better that there isn't.

like reading
the back of cereal boxes

a day
comes when you don't.

was it
a conscious decision?

a sort of
definitive flag you plucked
in the ground claiming new
land?

a pile of circles that
didn't resolve?

a shadow
spreads across
the trees with
names i
dont know

turning yellow

like a photograph
at the edges.

you knew at a
very young age

it was a spoken
word. seen and unseen
that your mother struggled
with. a hatred born
from freedom.

kind of like
you know, throwing the football
around in the snow. or for me,
shutting down, the normal

the routine of
winters passing.

a sympony
of dispositions and late
days.

its taken this long
to hit my stride.

and i read something today on
the bus by a favorite poet
that made me
stay up all night.

certain clues, certain hints
about the way you put
on your tire chains

a mailbox, frozen.

when you
think about describing us.
a piece of paper picked up
by an old friend, backwards.

a bottle rocket
of chess and some soldiers.

way down.

its cool, you said, im
not the rebound girl.