It was the year I drove over the Tappan Zee
for the first time of what would be hundreds.
It was the year I went five months without
my parents, living off broccoli cheddar soup
and ham sandwiches. The year I got cabin
fever and took a November bus ride through
early sunsets and empty houses, as the last
few brown leaves hung on by threads.
When I passed the Quinnipiac River, I let
swans drift away. It was the year spent sitting,
curled in my chair until the sunlight crept
and sunk beneath the torn carpet.
2010 was laundry detergent and fleeting innocence.
It was bed sheets and rain drops hiding flames.
It was the year I preferred vodka over church,
and spent the next 4 trying to erase.