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anonymousblackin my nightshirt well after three i finally forced myself take a shower and, after that, in my robe, i wandered around our two bedroom apartment for the better part of an hour. i didn't understand that i was doing it. i just did. walking out of one room and into another. pretending to have a purpose, i'd walk purposefully over to the kitchen cabinets. then i'd think, i could go into the study, so i'd go into the study and stare at the circle tapestry on the wall behind the computer. staring at that, something else would occur to me so i'd walk to the bedroom and poke at the dresser for a while until what happened closed in around me again and i sat on the floor. i guess that's what i was doing. trying to keep it from closing in around me again. it already is, closed in tight, but what else am i going to do?
i sat on the floor in the bedroom. maybe this is past the point where i promised ben i'd call him if it seemed like it was getting to this point, i think, and stand up, meaning to walk to the telephone on his nightstand. instead i wandered back into the front room and stared out the window at the broadcast towers. thirty years thirty years thirty years. this fixture in my landscape. more than that. elements of my landscape itself. i wouldn't have kept writing without you. i might not have started writing without you. i might've killed myself that summer before high school without you and now and now and what. and the broadcast towers blinked, like they do. sending out their signal, like they do. and i watched them or i pretended i could watch them and that's it. that's fucking it. and neither of us is even forty. and neither of us is even forty. and neither of us was even forty.
then i thought, he'll never know about
i sat back down on the floor.
*
who am i without your anchor?
i sat on the floor in the bedroom. maybe this is past the point where i promised ben i'd call him if it seemed like it was getting to this point, i think, and stand up, meaning to walk to the telephone on his nightstand. instead i wandered back into the front room and stared out the window at the broadcast towers. thirty years thirty years thirty years. this fixture in my landscape. more than that. elements of my landscape itself. i wouldn't have kept writing without you. i might not have started writing without you. i might've killed myself that summer before high school without you and now and now and what. and the broadcast towers blinked, like they do. sending out their signal, like they do. and i watched them or i pretended i could watch them and that's it. that's fucking it. and neither of us is even forty. and neither of us is even forty. and neither of us was even forty.
then i thought, he'll never know about
i sat back down on the floor.
*
who am i without your anchor?
