Rattle, Bump, Thump
My head clunks against layered glass
Double panes reflect a stranger
She looks a lot like the past
Her hair, it falls like cavalry
A curtain of bloody silk
I think I may have been her once
Her skin like buttermilk
She sits here on the bus with me
Across the dirty window
I never thought I’d see her there
Forever trapped in limbo.
You and I
were once the two separate sides
of the same electrical cord;
often tangled between each other,
building knots and kneading bundles of bridges
on top cedar, oak and birch floorboards.
There are old journals on my bookshelf
blank pages at the back
filled with unfinished poetry
similes with no synonyms
metaphors with no meaning
Snow forts built of packed wet flour
in a big orange plastic bowl,
S q i u s h
and unfold like an origami fortune
of milky dough and chocolate chips.
They just keep coming.
No matter how broken I feel,
No matter my pleas,
They just keep coming.