1988

It was last night--it happened one night--last night
that I found myself at the very beginning of grief
of grieving

The stale air wafting around my bed with an intent to strike;
I let it dance there and fuck with me--just for a
while
just so I could remember the death of the VCR

I was tired without reason
as I had been since before they knew me
when once there were other versions of why I was a good person
or at least I thought

I couldn't get it out of my mind;
the feeling of my clean, showered feet up against an aging rug and--
the buying of another thirty minutes before storytime

It was just that I missed it so--
so very much--
not because it was elusive; but rather just the opposite

The inevitable elapsing--
and I wanted so badly for it to stay--
stagnant,
if only for me and my design