I think my skull would rattle if you shook it –
filled with an assortment of past things.
I’ll pluck and keep them as trinkets,
souvenirs, mementos of has been.
I fear losing thoughts, and days,
so I pocket reminders of each place I go
(in heart, in mind, in body, in soul).
Anything can sound like a voice if you need to hear one –
kitchen white noise – the refrigerator humming,
creaks in the plumbing are less scary if you long for just someone
(anyone?) to hear you (maybe I heard footsteps on a creaky floor).
Grit your teeth and bite your cheeks,
Craft the moment with your bare hands.
Let the words slip out, just in case
They’re never on the brink again.
Give your heart, clasped with shaky fingers
And fight for it – life is short.
A slow pull into nothing,
They sink away into distant space,
And my arm goes with them
In a straining reach to draw them back.
But my arm only stretches and stretches
Into spaghetti linking shoulder to wrist.