THIS ISN'T ABOUT THAT

THIS

ISN’T ABOUT

THAT

When the wave comes I bury my feet in the sand and sink into the ground.

The crash is an afterthought, As is closing my eyes as my head goes under.

The surface is always further than it seems, yet each time my skin is scraped raw by sandy ground Delivered under my legs while I am busy drowning.

The routine of choking out salt water is familiar Like swallowing tears or pressing on bloody cuts.

As I stand and watch the water recede to my knees The current that carries me to shore feels inevitable.

But then, so does the current that carries me away.

It’s like being lost at sea. The depression is the storm and rough waves that threaten to wreck the ship. It feels like the storm will never end and the ship will inevitably capsize and i’ll drown. Now the ocean is still and I’m not in immediate danger but the monotony of being directionless and lost drives you to a different sort of madness. I’ve forgotten what standing on dry land feels like and have started to lose hope of ever returning there. I can’t remember how long I’ve been drifting and it’s better than being caught in a storm but I’m still a long way from home.

My god is an absent god Fathers are all the same that way.

I count my blessings every morning, scared of coming up short.

Things will never be the same.

I know they it’s happened already, I’ve got new cells and the air is fresh And the sky has never looked the same twice But there’s change and then there’s change, Leaving behind the bed I’ve slept on That my brother slept on until his toes stretched off the ends And he went away, just like I’m about to, The drawers emptied and the walls bare.

After I’m gone, my mother will walk the rooms alone.

I don’t worry for her, but I wonder what a family means When it’s four points spread across a globe.

I’m going through drawers and files, Sorting through old clothes like I lost the feeling somewhere in between Worn out socks and a necklace I thought I threw away two summers ago.

I never find it, just like I never found The letter you wrote me when we were kids Or the toy I cried over for two and half days.

It shouldn’t matter but I’m left with Half formed impressions and the blind loss Of forgetting something important that I once knew.

what are we but children playing in the sandbox of memory turning words to castles and careless about the grains trapped in the soles of our shoes

I’m sorry I mistook you for a place that I once knew If you believe in such things as honest mistakes The street signs have all changed since the last time I drove in this city years and years ago

I died not by your hand But by your feet Cheek to the dirt, eyes to the sky Did you see His face that day?

I pretended to look away From his shame But we are drawn To such things As forest fires And car crashes For the same reason That I now watch

Let me tell you, she said.

Let me tell you about the crooked tree my body swung from and the frozen river that stripped the flesh from my bone and let me tell you about the wild field of poppies growing in my lungs and the barren valley I entered and never came out and let me tell you about the ocean I crossed only to reach the same shore and the rotting fruit inside me turning into tainted pulp seeping under my skin and fermenting into bloody wine Are you listening? she asked.

Are you listening?

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