There is the me
who is occupied
being the animal of me.
And the me who observes me
with the loose curiosity
of watching a girl in a cafe.
And then the breathless captive me,
the memory holder,
repainting the picture of my life,
revising the ending of my story,
constant biographer
so many subplots
such scattered detail.
Tonight I watched a film,
ostensibly for entertainment
but I realized later
it was charity,
giving all of the me’s
the night off.
For a few hours,
we must have relished
that pause on the momentum
of these bones,
the relief
of submerging into a story
that is wondrously
not our own.