Beybi

 

As I approach, the years limp away like burned out celebrities, 

they just became a boring book, granted, with the requisite 

exquisite exception of that one anecdote, that one particular 

turn of phrase, blasting from the past clumsily cringeworthy,

leaving its unique mark scratched onto that one weird year, 

reasons stacked like walls of books, floor to ceiling,

the dust of memory collecting all over the place, without mercy 

betraying no love lost in its out of reach shelf real estate

-- must've been one of those, one that you just can't forget

because regardless of how many years end up stacked

in every room of your life, it does not help you overcome

that sweet chaos of unbridled envy, exposed, for all to see.

the nine endless lives of your inheritance, dustfree and impervious

to the fleetingness of recalling it all piece by piece,

hoping it will finally make some sense once it is put together,

but knowing deep down you will never be anything else

but the source of food, there to nourish and hydrate

the one thing that survived; a toothless cat

and the smell of her life slowly floating away into the night.