shuddering

 i shudder.

 

between prudence and slivowitz there was no contest

after twenty-seven hot, dry summers i'm still tasked 

to walk this earth for weeks or even months to come

and so i must make my life liveable

nightmares

i don't remember now the faces or the names

of all the people who have touched me--

tutors, teachers, pastors, fellows--

all those who've altered the flow of my life

and helped me to grow

 

but those which stick with me now-- 

those i wish i could forget-- 

i pray to god i never see again

(i pray for very little these days

but mercy, sweet mercy, from above) 

 

i split, we crumble,

the faces are gone for a moment

the memories inaccessible

just for a little while

and i am no longer in control 

 

but once my head hits the pillow

our eyes finally shut for another night

of elbow-pinching awkward sleep

i will still tingle and sting the next day

i am forced to relive it

 

i cense my bedroom, the whole apartment

cover each and every room with holy water

recite spells i hope will dispel

the stomach-turning days and nights

i cannot escape from in my sleep 

so this is goodbye

i can't get rid of you

even as i scour the pan in the sink you're there

telling me how i shouldn't use the steel wool

 

not little loved, the notes you left me

the drawings and poetry and ten-page letters

i got each time i left

 

old cigarettes crumbled into the pile

patch on my arm 

bruises on my legs 

 

i burn the ashes in my backyard

and i cense my entire body - this body, 

one you have never touched