by Marisa Siegel
Arbitrary arrangement of coincidences. Somewhere between it happened and why did it happen. Somewhere between it. She isn’t gone so much as missing.
I’m never being straightforward with a pronoun. There was a reason. An explanation? A promise — to close a window.
The stubborn walk home from the train, sulking. Really didn’t ever know what I was doing, even when I ought to have known. When literally pressed against a wall, back down.
This feels like a line in spite of.
This feels like a spiteful line.
This line feels like spite.
Idea of compass. Suggestion of circle. A spinning song,
I’m all fragment and it doesn’t suit me. I’m all gone with missing. There is no asking for her(e).