Other Yesterdays
running late,
you followed me;
casually waiting for
reciprocated
engagement.
when it didn’t come,
you changed tactics.
a draped arm,
a wandering hand,
a felt breath,
a whispering tongue;
a confident stride
that
wants to
hover.
an unhurried crowd
not watching.
I crossed the threshold
into a bar
with you leering,
showing craving
through your held gaze.
I want to follow you,
messaged too directly.
Upstairs was a funeral
full of friends
and strangers,
more draped arms
over
shoulders
lower
backs
and
whispering
tongues
smelling of
alcohol.
armed with the accoutrements of grief and loss.
touching me.
hugging me.
emotion
caught
and passed
back and forth;
unwanted,
like the knowledge of loss
before it’s accepted by the body.
I didn’t mean for rape and death
to connect the way they do,
but they still do.
in bathroom stalls.
in crowded walkways.
in stairwells.
in sun dresses.
in winter coats.
in epithets written for us,
but not by us.
in unwanted
straining to bear dislocated
feelings at later times.
with or without
emotions
or privacy
or changed circumstances.
sounds of holiday cheer
any holiday
lace charmless
memories with
taunting charades
of my own fun.
it’s the vividness,
that gets to me more than anything.
the laughter that doesn’t tell you
if the next moment is
scary or
sad or
relieving
jubilant
clumsy
inhibited
intoxicated
shared
or unwanted.
the chorus of sounds
that aren’t attributable to one event,
the atmosphere above this one.
the skin cells below this day
and this yesterday.
the shower head that is either a
fire hose or a trickle
depending.
no different than a
cloud
that way.
no different
than an
eye,
either.
no different than a body,
shook with too much
and not
enough at the
wrong
and right times;
seeing before this threshold.
I thought I saw…
trails
out of
a whisper;
speaking a memory
recalled
best
in
third person.
no different than
other yesterdays,
that way.