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All the shrapnel of a Thursday night echo embedded in a eulogy whispered. I came apart like carpet, unraveled myself right in front of everyone. Fell away like old stars imploding into dark. Remembered for a moment the dancing in mud, the finger in the vortex, the lightning storms, the old guitar songs on the beach. All the anger that slammed like fists into a steering wheel, breaking the horn that blared through that small town from end to end. It wasn’t the first time I fixed something for you. Sent you gifts, letters, dust, ash, a lock of my hair. Heart-shaped jealousy packed between the mattress and box spring. Picked up like an old wire antenna. This was how we snaked our ways through each other’s innocence. Now when your mouth moves, I don’t hear anything. I ache inside my ribs, choking on cold air, dreaming of backyard picnics. What would it take to pave over these old crash sites? Tear down the memorials for all we’ve lost and resurrect new losses loose like change. All the destruction of a kicked in door. Wailing violins, jerky rhythms, dirty dishes, green eyes speckled with doubt. Symbols spray painted on broken mirrors to mock my superstitions still scare me. My unencumbered fantasy sewn with invisible thread, stitches sparse like static. Through the floorboards, these habits are heard all night long.
