Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.



I am missing him today.

I had forgotten him entirely,
or as much as he can be forgotten

Chance lyrics,
robbed me of this
lack of memory.

Our life flashed before my eyes,
almost as movie-like as when it actually happened.
The familiar ache of remembered heartbreak
was removed
a little,
like it was projected from a tiny room in the back.

I don't want him playing Robert Redford
in the corners of my mind.
I want to remember his casual cruelty,
his inability to answer,
his selfishness and falsity and
that he did not love me.

I don't want to remember his
his good moments,
his taking of my breath
and my pain
and me.

But, there he is -
sleeping in a tiny room in the back -
arms and whispers and trust and,
oh gods,
the music.

Why can't I lose the echoes of joy
that rumble my ribcage
when I look back?
Why can't I shake the feeling of
his mouth on my palm?

Why can't chance lyrics bring me
places I have been
or the first reading of my favorite book
or nights filled with too many stars to count?

Not today.
Today they bring me him.

And I am missing him today.

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