(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.
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