I want something to rely on.




phone calls from a ghost
familiar and fun


i find myself, again.


i repeat and repeat and repeat

and re-pot and re-pot and re-pot
and
mourn


throw away the microwave
and
any attempt


care for a 90 year old stranger
and my father
and my soul
through an unfunny matinee



i move through the apartment quietly
as though
nothing ever happened here.


i drink from the water bottle
and
sleep under colder sheets


what keeps us moving?

it can't be silence.
it can't be neglect.
it can't be hope.


because i hoped and hoped and hoped.