coffee

It’s been a year, more,
drinking bad coffee, and still
I wake up crying.

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Record Keeping

I tried to delete any record of us,
but I can still scroll backward
through your feed
and find evidence we were married;
we shared a home.
I can scroll back
further
find when we were happy
yesterday
a thousand years ago

the zoo on my birthday
Jack asleep in the garland
our spot in Bloomington
the day Harold took us to his hometown

the top of the ferris wheel
concerts and records
the Sanders campaign
Thor at midnight

I do not know how to be
that person anymore

or how to be this new person
without you

either.

Practicing

Tonight is another night
but I remember
the smell of you on my skin
on a Monday morning.

I am practicing gratitude
for the night we spent
holding each other together
rather than despair
the curve of the earth
that bends us apart.

But the moon is round and big
(so big, I think I could put my hands on it,
if I went out in the snow)

and it isn’t even dark in California.