can you swim?
i have uttered my minimalist replies
the footnotes in leatherbound books:
i used to smell the pages of
his entire library.
never let me take books out but
didn’t realize i was locked in ’til the last chapter anyway.
i’m trying to keep it dry here
in the reading room
but you have an ocean swelling
of dismissed plaintiffs.
let the court rise! like the tide
let the record show like a shoreline
let the wreckage sit in my sea
the pages washed away
all smoked out
rolled up into a neat bottle
you can throw
you got a good arm
part of me’s waiting.
i know how much just saying that’d upset you,
but i left it in so you’d know i’m ready to be alone
don’t think you really learned how to swim
much less read all these books in a day
or a thousand.
i just miss knowing he’d never leave
and feeling understood,
both fictitious and autobiographical.
i’m sure you’ve stopped reading by now.
you just get more mad when i bring up how sad i am.
you’re not the first or last.
guess you didn’t know i was all
surfboarding and archie comics
not sorry to disappoint
was always taught only to say sorry
when my body feels sorrow
it feels more like a tide pool.