not the birthdays that hurt,
more the gray hairs
grey
maybe if I think of them as silver,
its not as bad.
-
There are no bastards in my family tree.
No divorce, mother.
All divorce, father.
-
Soon this will be my old apartment.
I’ll miss the walls and the doors.
The way the light comes in.
Felt the same way in the square.
And in the damn pink room.
And on walker.
Brice.
Brooke.
Savannah.
Mendenhall.
Dozens of dorms.
The house on clematis.
-
Anne still speaks.
Of christ now.