moving

A poem by Chrissy

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Post-its cling to objects,

Now unnecessary, but that once

Sustained life.

It is hard to distinguish

Between pieces that comfort us

And fragments that whisper—

Reminding you of a space and time

When you were in a better place:

A flickering store sign is a skeleton

Of dreams gone

Out of business where the flesh

Has already melted into the raw earth.

 

The corner of my room

Is still haunted by your frame

That stood and scanned my youth

Before giving me a patronizing kiss

On the head.

That kiss may as well have killed me,

For it is when I first mistook hatred of being shamed by you

For love.

 

I won’t miss your scornful eye, constantly

Reminding me I am simple.

My twin bed echoes your previous lovers:

Small, identical in naivety,

And able to be encompassed in the massive

California King.

 

I will miss my breakfast chair

That occasionally sparks a memory of family

And peaceful innocence—

A memory that too often

Is muted by my confused foolishness.

I was wiser as a child.

 

The true move came when

I felt the burn of the future,

Looked up,

And saw that you

Had left.

The ravages that remain is just excess hurt melting

Off of the carcass of a suicidal beast

That killed me before

It killed itself.  

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