most i’ve lost in  my life
was the move from Colorado
to Kensington after the New Year,
2014, during the polar vortex
that seemed to be just a second
behind us as we crossed
every state going east.
I could see through the smudged glass,
the dull gray of every underpass,
of every cloud that shaded our mood
(I even lost my favorite hair wrap when the wind picked up
in Kansas)
as you drove the whole way,
me not learning stick
fast enough, and the prairies frosting,
the cows hiding, the ice
on our windshield, blinding us.
we could not see the past we had escaped.
we could not see the future traps
we had laid.
we had no heat, and I, still
full of hubris,
thought I may have brought
the freeze that killed
everything.

 

but now it’s summer,
and my despondence
is soaked in steam rising
from the broken concrete,
so my sunglasses are foggy
and I’m depleted but still
walking miles to be
wherever I need to be.
this town smothers me
like a sauna.
I am the shifting climate.
I am the walking giant sun
burning holes in my own
scapula.
will I ever be free from weather?
it is a lonely August;

there is no one in my bed
tonight, or if I can own my
predictive writing,
ever again.
this is a drought so dry
it bites.
nips at me
with razor sharp stillness:
hard and heavy,
ripe with contempt,
and some days memories hit
me with a sudden nefarious tap
like the wafting rot of fruit from the
dumpster, or a nail gun
to my hair line
so when I look in the mirror
I see our original plans for union:
undone, completed and
not returning:
from Virginia to Colorado,
from there to here,
from now to nowhere,
and I have no excuse but to read the note
dangling, over and over
again in an effort to
remember:

Ha! Ha! Ha!
Nothing ever changes!

“the third try”

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