The pavement is sizzling with rising heat,
and my damp brow reminds me it’s summer.
I siphoned enough heartache
to rescue the dead of their broken hearts.
I slammed my eyes shut and plugged my ears.
It’s too early to hear Hannah’s voice
or reminisce about whether I had another choice.
A choice to head to Carolina or stay in Seattle,
which she told me don’t go.
She butters toast at the fucking kitchen table.
I’m still hungover her.
God, not now.
It’s too late for I’m sorry.
Don’t try it!
Sick and tired of convincing myself that
I’ll ever be good enough.
The bedroom door cracks;
a light beams over an angel.
Hannah’s clothes hit the floor.
Who let you in?
(© 2022 AC)
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