154.

The first man I fell in love with
was married yesterday.
The weather was humid,
I wrote my grocery list,
and did not lose sleep.
Number all the lines
and bury them in the yard.
Something about this
isn't working out.

There are things I must say
before I become too old
and hardened.
I notice the way light twists
across the surface of the lake,
I'm still afraid of distance,
sometimes, want to smell like lilacs,
and find home in a human
body.

I can sit on this for days
and only tell you
one-eighth of what I intended.
I miss New York,
and being a stranger.
I have sandpaper edges
and I'm sorry for that,
but it's only when looking at me
sideways, and I don't want anyone
who looks at me sideways.

When is the last time
we were over the moon?
Built a goddamn rocket ship
and strapped ourselves in?

When is the last time
we had an excuse
not to run?