This particular bitterness
This particular bitterness is a pill I can swallow
for all the days in between when I
woke up feeling like I would always
Half torn shoelaces tied up in this city
that pieces itself together, I collect
words like tiny flecks of snow landing
on the skin of my neck.
I throw everything dead in my room
away and fry a scallion pancake, tell
myself, it is enough.
Listen to the women in ceramics
discuss their marriages disintegrating
and feel sorry for myself still.
I turn over my small relief in my mouth,
place it beneath my tongue. Keep it
safe for the day I might need it back
and hope that never comes.
I am not hurtling anymore.
I am remembering what it was like to
see you on the 37 bus which isn’t even
called that anymore which maybe you
don’t ride now on tuesdays but I still
think of how I reveled in running into
your routine, your lines crossing mine.
I consider inevitability. Ending,
beginning, becoming. The
ludicrousness of feeling it, the quiet
action of living it. Remembering I know
how to glint.
It is the first time I have taken winter at
its word. Solitude, it’s joy, and rest.