top of page

The Line

How much time has passed, if any at all?

My clothes still smell of firewood from Sunday evening, 

not one load of laundry needs to be done,

flowers are alive from the night he brought them home,

the mirror for my wall sits on the floor, unhung.


But walking to the couch, I felt a line and crossed it —

a sudden break in my haze that told me life could never the same —

and felt grief over something I had not fully lost yet. 


The smell of wet hair, the making of a bed, 

the passenger seat, time that was spent — 

and in its suddenness I missed

the feeling of forgetting how it feels to be forgotten. 

 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
The Break Room

This is the final breaking of a bone before it can heal, the long-awaited anticipation of how badly it will hurt, my last whispered prayer before it gets worse, my loudest scream that you will never h

 
 
 
What I Know

I know everything about you that everyone else doesn’t — How you don’t like the fat on your steak, wispy singing in pop songs, your deep urge to people please and feel like you belong. I know about yo

 
 
 
Hungry

My hungry body is nothing but a nuisance these days — a low, slow, growling reminder that I am functioning on empty and need to be fed — and so I shove a handful of blueberries or buttered bread to th

 
 
 

Comments

bottom of page