#16: scarves

(scarves)

there’s an acrid smell in the air

and a piss stain

helping along

the yellowing of the tile

mold creeps

around the windows

stretching its arms out

and clinging on, dragging

to give itself more space

i sit on the floor,

aware of its filth

but i’m not in a state

to care. i

hold a gift you gave me

some years ago–

a mug that says “snuggle up”

with a fox and a rabbit

both wearing scarves

cozied up in each other’s company

the air is cold

and the frigid breeze from the

not-quite-closed window

travels right through me

i cock back my arm

to throw the mug

out of the open door

to finally shatter it

but hesitate before i let go.

why am i still holding on

to this memory of you?

…

is it because i don’t have

any more of them?

…

is it because i still

have stories i need to tell?

…

are you in my brain, still?

…

all these years later,

how do you still have a home, here?

…

why can’t i let you go?

…

why do you still have an inkling of control over the tiniest sliver of my mind?

…

and why do you still scare me

the same way you always have?

…

the breeze whistles

through the window

reminding me of

where i am, and

bringing me back

to the present moment.

i swivel on my ass

cock back my arm,

and throw the mug

as hard as i possibly can

through the window,

shattering both of them.