Shivers

Photo by Dylan on Pexels.com

That was the year
I learned you can’t go back home again.

I slept on a mattress in the middle of my living room,
spent money on poetry books and hospital visits.

I sat on docks and stared out over water.
I fantasized for hunger and learned so many things I never wanted to be again.

I’d go to bars alone and watch couples dance,
A diabetic forbidden from sugar, they’re smile made me feel like I was eating Kit Kats.

Everything smelt so ripe and done.
The world felt so quiet, aware of our mutual hunger.

I was a child steering a car, who never had a chance to see the road itself.
Even those who always carried prayer cards, kept them in their pockets.

I came home to be with all I missed.
Realizing soon I was rapidly out-of-date and obsolete.

A late blooming flower, too afraid to emerge into light.
What they never understood was ‘survive’ meant never returning home.

Onward, out of breath, empty handed. Stay in motion
and nobody even yourself can point out the lonely star.

That was the year,
I pointed upward and saw myself there in the sky alone, twinkling as hard as I ever have.

A cold shiver in deep space,
looking at the sun kissed earth.

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