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.

Awe.

Last week, I read an article that told me it would be good exercise for my brain if I could find something to be in awe of every single day. While focusing on this directive over the past several days, I've realized that I've already participated in this type of activity, daily, for most of my life. Whether it be watching a Facebook video of a dancer performing a difficult routine, or seeing a stranger help another stranger on the street, or being as still as possible while Dylan sleeps in my arms and snores through his tiny Yorkie nose. If you take the time to appreciate things, they'll easily fill your heart to maximum capacity and make your brain process everything a little more intensely. Let those little things tickle your senses until they penetrate your organs, then let them resonate there for however long you have to savor them. That's awe.

I have
my grandmother's nose
and
one-way texts.

Ravioli pizza
with another
tastes just the same.

I'm motosuzy
and
suzypineapples
but
not the girl who hurt you.

but
you won't let me be me
and
you'll say that I don't like you
and
you'll give up on all of those times

singing children's songs in the '29
spinning across the seat of the Merc
go karts and drive-ins
90's tunes in bed
Jumbo junior
Italian ices and bocce ball
slow drives on the north shore
spotify playlists
and
singing wildly on the ride home from the shack upstate.
stoop sitting silhouettes
and
root beer drinking lovers
with raccoon skulls
and
dirty birds
and
so
much
love.

it's
head on door
shallow breath
dead armed
you just left
despair.

it's
i love you
and
you love me
and
i'll call you
sometime
this week
despair.


it's
texts about
benches
peaches
songs
poems
ducatis
fxrs
birthdays
daughters
curly blond hair
and
gold star
despair.

it's
everything
and
nothing.

you're
everything
and
nothing.

and

i'm here
behind this door
unable to move.