11/11/2021

Your existence, our shared history,

its tethers

by a graying hair

You hold no sphere of influence

no orbit, no gravitational pull

and I am grateful.

Because.

I am better for knowing you, I admit.

You are a rugged roadmap,

an outdated recipe

of how not to be, act,

or exist

Yet you, in rare, awkward moments

insist you are more.

*side eye*

I will gently concede

You take up space

An empty delivery box

a discarded needle,

the uneaten crust

but I am thankful,

there is no high shelf,

unused room

a forgotten book with pressed petals

to store you away

You demand a key to a house

where you don’t know the address

and I don’t even reside

anymore.

You are a fading memory,

a cautionary tale

a standing solitary headstone

with the details

too decayed to recall

that I refuse

to dust or decorate

on memorial day.