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.