Poem at Sunrise

I woke up at 5 a.m. in the most unfamiliar familiar place. How much I wish you were here now.

I’d make us breakfast and a cup of coffee each (I know how much you like that); I wonder now why I ever stopped.

Those 5 a.m. sleepy eyed chat through sips of coffee where, with our hands intertwined, we’d plan our day, our weeks, our future.

The conversations we had last running through my mind; “Where did we go wrong? Where did we go wrong?”

Did we?

Did we?

Did we go wrong or merely go astray? I was drowning and swallowed poison to make my brain forget. Is that when it began? Our discontent; things said that we now regret.

Do we lay down, accept defeat, and go about our day?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

The last line of a poem plays on in my mind; an old record player stuck on repeat:

I carry your heart

(I carry it in my heart)

E.E. Cummings, that sappy son of a bitch.


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