I want to exit

Like wet paper
Like snow in May
Like the water left in planter trays
Where strawberries have lived and died
So I practice walking quietly
and running my fingers over the latches
on doors; I am practicing my whispering

is like this: A series of exits
A slow waning
It’s taken years to perfect the tempo
And every time, I think
this time
I will leave a perfect memory
shaped like hourglasses and
mandolin strings and
wine- stained lips
And he’ll think sometimes about how difficult it was
to get his fingers through the tangles in my hair
But mostly
he won’t think of much
This is how we hold onto each other now:
We do it by forgetting

And these days
I don’t stay long enough to even
I am already
outside. I have lost your address. I have sung myself
elsewhere, he asked where I was from, the first night; I said
“Elsewhere”, I said, “Everywhere”




 photo credit: boingboing.net