Perhaps an even more distressing prospect for Habara than the cessation of sexual activity,
however, was the loss of the moments of shared intimacy.
“Scheherazade,” Haruki Murakami
I'm having trouble inside my skin
I tried to keep my skeletons in
“Slipped,” The National
gradually and with reluctance
i have whittled away at my own resolve
to fulfill your wishes when you left
and then as i am walking to my morning class
a student in front of me tells another goodbye
saying your name rattling in my chest like a can
these hauntings erode my diligence to your requests
to live as if we never were and never will be again
i stand on the precipice of this my toes curled at the edge
•
i am reading a new Murkami short story
and it is toward the end when i realize
he is writing about the thing eroding me
and fueling my constant melancholy
because i cannot share this story with you
the thing that matters most about all that matters
everything is reduced in magnitude without you
dimmed dulled and nearly erased except what could be
and there is the limit of my diligence hidden in bone
•
when they dismember me
the skeleton key will be
the thing they come to see
the thing that can set me free
opening the door with a skeleton key
that allows me to be and to see
•
i hear your name and i recall your hands
making me the happiest and saddest i can be
No comments:
Post a Comment