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Monday, December 31, 2012

New Year's Morning

The only thing I hear in this house
   is the sound of the minute hand making the rounds
on the wall clock. Time is solitary,
   working unseen, unnoticed, and before you know it,
it's done. I woke up this new year's morning
   to empty plates and cups on the table, people
still dreaming of the promises they made
   the previous night, shrugging off last year's skin
in sleep like a blanket fallen on the floor. Nobody saw
   the light rain that still coats the plants
on the veranda, the fogged up glass panes that give
   the view a dewy sheen. Everything is clean
after the fireworks, after the countdown.
   Will it be any different this time?
What I'm really asking is, will there be less
   loneliness. The plates are stacked
in the sink, waiting for water, waiting to be good as new.




Tuesday, December 4, 2012

never yours




I had no reason to be there. I had no claims on him, nothing to keep me in his life. And by that virtue alone, I know it shouldn’t really hurt as much as it does right now. It doesn’t really hurt as much as it does right now.