Two Poems on Nothing, Really


It was just three weeks, I try to reassure


But I’ve stretched it on for so long

That now, five years later,

Every place I go to, every new person who smiles

Reminds me of you,

And I grow old at the thought

Of new friendships.





The laundry bag is empty

Today I washed the clothes I wore

Last Thursday, and changed my sheets

From black to a bright yellow

Desperate to clean, to be clean.


But the trenches around my eyes deepen

No amount of frantic scrubbing

Removes memories of yet another pair

Of probing fingers.


A new bout of insomnia, a fresh dose of sadness

When will these cycles stop turning?

When I am so wrinkled that

Hands turn helpful to guide my step?



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