[17] HEGIRA
[i]
you know it's gone
only when you can't see it.
there's a reason for the loss and
absence that keeps growing in sharp
thorns stabbing your chest inside out.
breaths come. breaths go.
and we both know you have the
talent for leaving.
[ii]
i'm not here to ask you not to.
words have been creeping up to
my throat only to run dry at the
tip of my tongue. they burn, they
ache, they leave scars. and there's
no antidote to rewrite spilled ink
with remaining instead of going.
[iii]
even from before,
we're told the same myth--
departure: a crime, a sin, a grievance.
and i'll add disease to the collection,
spell out a new myth for the future
so they won't commit the same faults.
[iv]
because you and i,
we are the circuit that sparked
too short.
[v]
because you and i,
we are the dates in history that
people attempt to forget.
[vi]
because you and i,
we are the poison to each other's
remedy.
[vii]
and it's time to leave
[viii]
.
YOU ARE READING
Witherland
PoetryAgain: precarious. When blood remains, I see the world tripping over the edge of the sword, red and forgotten. They drop, drop, drop-- balance. And we fall endlessly. [a poetry series by alice © 2017]
