I think I'll call our marriage:
Disassociating Through
Dissolution and
Other Mental Illness.
I wrapped your birthday presents
the day after asking you for a divorce
I wondered where the tape was,
I wondered how to keep my life intact.
I'm thinking about time folded and creased
neatly presented—
a gift you can give,
but can never take back.
Or maybe:
Losing the Fight
For a Life
of Stillness
The other day I heard that
someone jumped
from a hotel downtown
and I wondered if it was you—
but not enough to call and ask,
not enough to actually
see anything
through.
Or maybe: How Did
You Sleep
Last Night?
You said:
I don't want to end up
as another thing you have lost
I said: to lose is to witness
but to relinquish is to see
Neither one of us knew
exactly what it meant—
I'm not sure if I ever saw you
but I know that you never saw me
Or maybe: The Things We
Lost in the Fire
After I Set Everything
Alight
Sometimes it feels
as if I am hacking
at the seams
with a dull knife
trying desperately to
set something free
and then I remember you accusing me
of trying to take my life
and I think,
no no no, it's:
We Can't Lose
What We Intentionally
Misplace
it's:
All the Things
We Couldn't See
Through
it's:
It All Ends in Any Case
it's:
It's Not Me and
I Know Now for Certain
That it's Not You