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5.11.17

all the images i have left of you don't even make a whole handful


today
breaks before another evening wear
sees no street, no outdoors, no rain on a friday
night falls apart like so many times before
today

i finally realize there's no glitter
no sequins, no formal attire for tonight's act
which is a monologue, an interior discourse
no one will so much as register once
let alone multiple times
today

there's nobody but me left alone
when leaving's the thing to do now
between words, between repetitions
of all the things you only dared to say
after i was gone at last: "i don't wanna
end up like you!" with tears like shattered glass
for emphasis, for all the times that it felt real

you
 and
  me

every single day
that goes by with minimum effort
and maximum results, like scratching
your name on my skin like a tag
turned inside out for all to see that
today

it is just me and the weight of winters
passing over what we could become
if only today, of all days, we settle
for a true story of how we traded keys
shelter from bedbugs, from the lying
down to the very last phone conversation
going straight to voicemail

today
you decided to leave a message, a song
the one i sang for you again and again
the words scattered quickly, like a treeful
of ghost birds flying off into the pixelated
skies all at once at the slamming of a door
the opening of eyes, the stark realization that
today
there's a strong sense of salt exploding
with every wave breaking and quenching
the thirst of youth, the shocking truth of our
different numbers, the years that went by
from my birth to your summer birthday

i don't think i told you i lost all the photos
of the past two years -- our years, your bed
-- they are all gone, like memories from
a very long time ago, when there were no real
ways to recall the gender of the twins that
would never be but that i still tried to become
with you, through all the yesterdays worth
keeping for future reference, when the day comes
and all my stories are finally finished, done
save for the ones we could've told
but
opted not to
for fear is my artform

it wouldn't hurt if it was just the photos
if it had just been you, and not everyone else

all the relatives, sisters, neighbors, classmates
suburbanites, visitors, passersby, onlookers
colleagues, coworkers, fellow scribblers
storytellers, weavers, and dreamers
characters from la banda, la raza
el corillo, the crew, the gang, and the entire cast
including the chance encounters
the not-so-coincidental-acquaintances
friends, yes, friends, extended family
bystanders and witnesses called forth

all
gone
all
elsewhere
fortunately
in spite of me
or because of something i said
i did, i wrote, i yelled
or screamed
simply
today
here
now
me
i
refuse
to forget

tonight
you will lie
with him
and i will
decide,
once again
to stay in

i want to make the most out of the three weeks left in my lease