2020-03-30T20:39:02-07:00January 16th, 2013|Relationships|

This daily trip to the edge

I can’t help it
the triggers are everywhere

an ambulance moaning by
a missed phone call
a sock of his
slumped over a chair

first I picture how it would happen
the details ambush my mind
painting it all
before I can stop it
on the inside
of my eyes

and then I imagine the after
the chewed up hull
of my being

the service
and the things I would try
to say

the hate I would aim
at the things
that still exist
like his quiet chair
his chipped mug

I park the car
and I can see him inside
talking on the phone
pacing and eating whatever
he can spoon from the fridge

there has been no fire
no heart attack

just a phone call
he couldn’t get off
perhaps his agent
or his dad

there is no cure
for this daily trip
to the edge

only my hand
on his warm
perfect face.

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