Posted on Leave a comment

“I Won’t Fall Apart on You Tonight”

This morning I wrote a poem draft
about listening to Eleanor Friedberger
in Caolan’s car on the way to New Jersey
past all the grotesque billboards of the BQE

By 5 p.m. I was pacing the lot
of the pet emergency hospital,
interstate whoosh in one direction,
green fields and silver silos in another,
staring at the back of an old wooden billboard
walking through long grass in my booties
to see the front

There is no Bennigan’s at this exit
you point out as we watch the corner
of the canvas flag in the wind

This morning it seemed like I wasn’t
going to fall apart

Two days ago it felt like things were
maybe finally looking up

But I don’t know what tomorrow may bring

I am I because my little cat’s known me
all my thirties and half my twenties
chief witness to my sorrows
generally quizzical toward joy

And when you pointed to the vulture
flying low above the hospital,
Easter Sunday, and said, Look,
it’s so close you can see its coloring

I said I didn’t like that at all

Too many bad signs

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *