Every decision I make is pushed by the ghost of my younger self and pulled by the blurry image of my future.

driving an old car in need of repairs
you feel every oddity
from the creaky, heavy door and
the every-so-often squeaky brakes,
the manual roll-down windows

sometimes you gotta hit the dash
to get your scratched CD playing,
old cars have warm static hums and
headlights glowing in amber
the sweet smell of carpeted seats baked in sun

when flirting with the future,
i drove a new car and it felt
as sterile as a spaceship -
you're unaware of its machinery that
makes it just like every other car.

This morning I found myself
sorting paperclips by size
the way my mother taught me
in motel rooms across southern America,
organizing what little certainty
we could hold in our hands.

I’m on my own now, and I still wake
some nights with that familiar itch,
with this restlessness that whispers:
nothing here is permanent, child.
Not the dust on windowsills,
not the coffee stain on carpet,
not even this gravity
that holds us to one place.

I've spent years
trying to unpack this blessing:
how each goodbye taught me
to find home in the strangest things
in the comfort of all my belongings
jammed haphazardly in my car,
in the methodical way I label
everything I own, as if naming
things would make them stay.

I handle each object
like a rosary bead, each dish
and book a meditation on what
we carry, what carries us.

Some collect seashells
or pressed flowers. I collect
empty spaces, fill them briefly
with my particular silence,
then leave them blessed
with a swelling, lingering
air of sentimentality.

Underneath pale vanity lights,
All my concaves fall into my sights,
Shadows cast cross a litany of blights,
Dark rings crowd round deadened eyes.

I, I, I, *******, I, I, I,
I WANNA,
I GOTTA,
I FOUGHT IT,
I OUTTA,
I'M FALLING,
FALLING.
DOWN NOW.
I, I, I *******, I, I, I,
AM TOTALLY
fine.

The burning end of a leftover roach,
Find the mirror, give me a look of reproach,
Red eyes find silence yet enough to denote,
There’s that burn again in my wheezing throat.

I, I, I, *******, I, I, I,
I WANNA,
I GOTTA,
I FOUGHT IT,
I OUTTA,
I'M FALLING,
FALLING,
DOWN NOW,
I, I, I, *******, I, I, I,
AM TOTALLY
fine.

There’s the sun out to the distant east,
Seems to melt this auto-cannibalistic feast,
I can see where lines are beginning to crease,
I’ve got time so far as I can see, at least.

It’s the morning of another day
The woman gets dressed
Having finished her brief breakfast
She is going out

Dressed in her red coat and scarf
Ivory colored turtle neck sweater
Blue jean leggings
It’s winter at the end of January
Very cold outside
It gets into your bones
Makes them ache

She is heading out to the store
Afterwards she will stop for coffee at a favorite cafe
Before heading home

She is living her new life
With her high school sweetheart
An unbelievable dream come true