Looking back 
at it
now holes
are interesting 
things frequently 
filled in
with bodies 
of blame 
or left 
gaping open 
like some 
feeble testament 
of suffering 
me I
ignore and 
avoid them 
itty bitty 
monuments of 
something that 
once was 
left for 
others to 
gaze upon 
and wonder 
just what 
happened here 

Imagine it
to be 
and so 
it will
for those 
things out
in front 
are meant 
for one 
to catch 
and those 
behind are
meant to 
be forgotten 

How truly simple 
this life is 
small little miracles 
that occur daily 
smiles and hello’s 
hugs and happiness 
kidding and kisses 
and those kiddos 
doggos and cattos 
for me it
has always been 
coffee cup or
pot that magic
of scoops and 
water and heaven 

People bring too
many bags with 
all filled with 
things designed to 
pull and tear
and rip apart 
piece by piece 
parts of me
eyeing them quickly 
looking for value 
then chucking them 
aside without care
hey I need 
that and on
they go from 
top to bottom 
scraping me like 
I’m a tin
of cold beans 
no no more 
scavengers calling themselves 
lovers when they’re 
really only after 
what is salvageable 
not what’s left 

Reigniting what 
once was
never works 
the kindling 
we were 
that once 
set everything 
ablaze had 
gotten wet
unable to 
catch spark 
time has
a way
of moving 
one on
while keeping 
the other 
its prisoner